


A Much Deeper Truth

by tejaswrites



Series: The Grace of Shadows: Persephone Hawke & Knight-Captain Rylen [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Between DA2 and DAI, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Lust at First Sight, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar Relationship, Minor canon diverage, NSFW, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Study, Smut, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tejaswrites/pseuds/tejaswrites
Summary: In the aftermath of the Chantry explosion, Persephone Hawke is named Viscountess of Kirkwall. With an incompetent captain of the city guard and the prince of Starkhaven stirring up resentment among the nobility, Persephone and what remains of Kirkwall’s Templars struggle to bring order to the city she loves amidst the chaos.Persephone has intentionally kept everyone at an arm’s length because of her duty to Kirkwall and her duty to Thedas. Keeping relationships to one night makes things easy and uncomplicated. At least it was until a knight-captain from Starkhaven walked into her life and changed everything.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Rylen, Hawke/Rylen (Dragon Age)
Series: The Grace of Shadows: Persephone Hawke & Knight-Captain Rylen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001937
Comments: 49
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

_9:37 Dragon_

“Have we or have we not previously discussed what is expected, Guard-Captain?” Persephone templed her hands together as she leaned her elbows on the desk and stared at the woman who may have once been considered a friend. 

“We have.”

“And what did we discuss when it came to mages?”

“The Guard is to request support from Knight-Commander Rutherford.” Aveline Vallen, Guard-Captain of the Kirkwall City Guard, looked at the man standing next to her. He shifted his weight under the attention of the two angry women.

“And?” Persephone prompted.

“And the Guard…” The woman trailed off and Persephone lifted her eyebrows. Vallen sighed, “Is to consider itself secondary to the Templars and their duties.”

“Bravo, Guard-Captain. You do remember. Then pray tell, why have I been receiving reports that you are not requesting the assistance of Rutherford here?” 

“The Guard is capable—”

“Did I or did I not make myself clear?”

The guard-captain’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You did.”

“Be more specific.”

“You made yourself clear.”

“About?”

“About the Guard’s duties,” Vallen spat.

“If you cannot do a simple job, Guard-Captain, I will not hesitate to remove you from _your_ duties.”

“But—”

“Investigate the crimes listed in the city’s legal code and defer to the Templars when you suspect mage involvement. If we have this conversation again, you will be stripped of your rank and sent back to foot patrol. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Hawke.”

“I have a title now, Guard-Captain Vallen, and I require that you use it.” 

Vallen pressed her lips together and stared back. After a terse silence, she conceded, “Yes, Viscountess Hawke.” 

Persephone waved her hand toward the door. “Dismissed. Get out of my office.”

Vallen set her jaw and turned on her heel, pushing past Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford on her way to the door. As soon as she was gone, the man cleared his throat. “It’s technically my office.” 

Persephone glared at him. “Don’t push it. I’m not happy with you either, but at least you do your job…and you’re competent enough.”

Cullen let out a light huff of laughter. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t make me regret supporting you as knight-commander of whatever is left of this city’s Templars.” 

Before he could open his mouth to respond, a knock sounded on the door. Persephone raised her voice to call, “Enter!”

“Still my office,” Cullen told her as the door opened behind him. Persephone rolled her eyes at him and then looked past at the newcomer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the dark tattoos inked on his chin. Those were the most obvious, but when he turned his head, she saw there was another one on his nose. By the time she lifted her eyes to his, he was already focused on Cullen. Curious that his gaze hadn’t lingered on her, if he even looked at her at all. 

“A message for you, ser. Arrived just now.” The words rolled off his tongue with the slightest hint of a Starkhaven accent. It was subtle, but it was there.

Persephone studied him as he handed a folded paper to Cullen. He was tall—taller than Cullen—and he had the dark tan skin of a northerner. He was clearly well built, even covered in full Templar armor. More than that, the man was unperturbed by finding her sitting behind his knight-commander’s desk. In fact, he’d hardly even looked at her all. A templar who hadn’t so much as blinked in the presence of a mage intrigued her, but a man who didn’t look twice at Persephone Hawke was a challenge.

“Who are you?” she asked as Cullen looked over the letter.

He turned to face her directly. There was a scar that ran across his right eye, but that wasn’t what made her pause; it was that when his gaze connected with hers, she lost all sense of time. It could have been no more than a second or it could have been minutes, she didn’t know, but the pale blue intensity of his eyes had Persephone’s breath catching in her throat. It was as though he truly saw her. 

“Knight-Captain Rylen, my lady.” As he spoke, Persephone’s eyes dropped to his mouth, watching his lips move with each word that again flowed off his tongue in a way that had Persephone interested in learning more. 

“Is Rylen your given or your surname?”

“Given.”

“And do you have a surname?”

“I do.” 

Persephone waited for him to continue, but he remained stubbornly silent. Most people were afraid of her, which had the useful benefit of making them talkative in her presence, but this man didn’t seem to fear her at all. He merely held her gaze as though daring her to continue. “May I have it?” 

His nostrils flared slightly in response. His nose looked as though it had been broken a time or two—it was hard and almost too large for his face. Thick stubble spread across his jaw even though it was still early afternoon. It wasn’t unattractive. No, she liked the rugged hardness of him.

His voice broke into her thoughts when he said, “Clacher.” 

Persephone blinked as she lifted her eyes to his once more. She’d forgotten what they’d been speaking about. His name? Yes. “Well, Knight-Captain Clacher. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He set his jaw and stared back at her. Next to him, Cullen cleared his throat. The man had captured her attention so completely, she’d forgotten Cullen was still in the room. He said, “Knight-Captain, this is Lady Persephone Hawke, Viscountess of Kirkwall.”

Persephone held the knight-captain’s gaze as she leaned back in the chair. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

One side of his lips—his full lips that once again drew Persephone’s eyes to them—lifted in amusement. “Then a pleasure it is.”

This one she liked. He would be fun.

“Oh, it will be.” Something in his eyes shifted and a charge leapt through the air between them.

“Rutherford, will you excuse us a moment?” she said.

Cullen didn’t argue. He wouldn’t dare, not after all they’d just gone through together. He turned to leave, but before he reached the door Persephone tore her gaze away from the knight-captain in front of her as Cullen pointed at himself and mouthed, _My office_. 

When he’d pulled the door closed behind him, Persephone returned her attention to the man standing in front of her. “What brings you to Kirkwall, Knight-Captain?”

“I’m here to assist in the relief efforts.”

“You’re from Starkhaven?”

His eyebrows lifted. “I am.”

Persephone tilted her head and scrutinized him. “Do you know Sebastian Vael?” 

He evenly met her gaze. “I know of him.”

“The question was not do you know _of_ him. Do you know him? Personally.”

“I don’t.” 

“Then tell me, what do you think of him? As a person? As your prince?” Persephone leaned against her right hand, keenly watching his facial expressions. The thick stubble was borderline a beard and she wondered what it would feel like under her fingers and her lips…and between her legs.

“He is reckless and fool-hardy. Not meant to rule.”

“Do you think he should?” 

“Nae.”

Persephone smiled, pleased to see that they could agree on that at least. “Do you have plans tonight, Knight-Captain Clacher?”

She didn’t miss the way his brow furrowed at her use of his surname. There was something there, something unhappy in that name. Perhaps they had more in common than she’d realized. “I don’t, but the knight-commander—”

“I’m hosting a little party for the new prince of Starkhaven,” she interrupted. “Knight-Commander Rutherford will be in attendance as well. I expect you at the keep by seven. Don’t be late.” 

She thought he’d argue, or at least as a question, but he merely lifted an eyebrow and nodded once before disappearing from the room.

Oh yes, him she liked.

#### ***

“I was like you once, Hawke. Drinking and whoring my life away…” A hush settled over the room as Persephone snapped her eyes to the man who’d spoken. Sebastian- _fucking_ -Vael, Prince of Starkhaven. That man had become the bane of her existence. She regretted the day she’d accepted his request off that board, and she regretted the day she’d avenged his family. If not for those days, they wouldn’t be here right now.

Her nostrils flared, but she took a deep breath to calm herself before she spoke. “For all your talk of forgiveness, _Seb_ , you judge me quite harshly.” Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, but Persephone continued as though she hadn’t noticed, “It’s a wonder you ever followed me around all these years. Why, one might think you’re behaving so horribly out of jealousy.” 

His jaw clenched as he stared back at her. She gave him a sweet smile. “I had nothing to do with your vows to your maker. Perhaps you should direct that anger at him.” 

“The Maker has nothing to do—” he cut off when someone further down the table cleared their throat. At the sound, Sebastian gestured with his hand toward the others. “If only they knew what you really are.”

“What I am?” Persephone let out a sardonic laugh. “They know. They’ve always known. Just as you did.” 

“Do they?”

“Of course. Why don’t you ask the knight-commander how we met.”

Cullen cleared his throat as all eyes at the table shifted to him. Persephone forced back a smile as his eyes darted around the table in a panic. He may be the highest ranking official in the city, after her of course, but she was entertained by making him squirm from time to time. 

“How did you meet?” Sebastian asked, turning to face him. Persephone wasn’t certain which part of that initial meeting made a pink blush appear across his cheeks. She knew he disliked the memory of the hateful words he’d said to her after she’d just helped save his life.

“There was a recruit, he…he turned into an abomination,” Cullen uncomfortably began, pausing to give Persephone a helpless look. 

She gave him a wry smile. “A recruit did turn into an abomination, that was terribly inconvenient, but come now, Rutherford. You must remember what happened next.”

The entire table held their breath as Cullen stared at her in shock. She flashed him a wider, teasing smile as she turned back to Sebastian. “I told him then that I was a regular at the Blooming Rose and was happy to help interrogate the young men and women there. The knight-commander has known since the day we met what I am. This whole city knows.”

“Aye, they don’t call you the whore of Kirkwall for nothing.” 

A profound silence enveloped the room. Cullen’s face had gone from embarrassment to relief to anger, but he didn’t speak. He knew her well enough not to. Persephone took a deep breath and then rose to her feet. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Sebastian started to sputter in protest, but Persephone nodded at the guards near the doors. They pulled them open and several more entered the room. He forced his lips into a thin line. “Some day, Hawke, you will regret what you’ve done.”

“I already do. Get out of Kirkwall,” she said.

Sebastian pushed away from the table, his chair toppling behind him as he stood. “I’ll go when I’m ready.” 

Persephone tugged on the Fade around her, drawing its power to her. She would force him out if she had to. “Leave. Now.”

“I fear only the Maker’s wrath, not yours.” Sebastian threw one last spiteful look her way and stormed out. Several sympathetic nobles pushed back their chairs and followed. 

“Anyone else?” Persephone asked.

Very few people at the table were willing to make eye contact with her, but no one moved to stand. Satisfied that was the last of them, Persephone sat back down in her chair. The scraping of the feet on the stone floor was loud in the unsettled silence. Taking a slow breath, she reached for her glass of wine with a hand that shook almost imperceptibly.

The new knight-captain she’d met that afternoon in Cullen’s office lifted his glass toward the center of the table. “A toast to Kirkwall, and to her viscountess.”

“Hear, hear,” Cullen said, lifting his own glass. The rest of the table quickly followed.

Persephone lifted her glass toward the knight-captain in thanks before bringing it to her lips. At least tonight she’d have a pleasant distraction from the mess she’d found herself in.


	2. Chapter 2

“Knight-Captain Clacher.” At the sound of his name, Rylen turned to look back at the woman standing near the head of the table. When their eyes met, she continued, “A moment please?”

Though he could feel Rutherford’s eyes on him, Rylen didn’t break eye contact with the woman to look at him. His commanding officer had been surprised when Rylen told him he’d been invited to the viscountess’s dinner that night. At least at first. The surprise had quickly turned into something like dissatisfaction, but Rylen wasn’t sure why.

Whatever Rutherford thought mattered little as Rylen would not have turned down the invitation. Since he’d seen her that afternoon in Rutherford’s office, he’d thought of little else. She intrigued him in a way he’d not been before. It wasn’t only her appearance, though she was attractive enough with dark hair and pale skin so unlike most Marchers. She was striking. One might even call her beautiful, in the way there is a certain beauty in darkness.

He lifted an eyebrow and one side of his mouth. “Of course, Viscountess.”

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving it up to him to follow. Before he did, he glanced at Rutherford. The man’s eyebrows were pressed together and he had a deep frown on his face, but he didn’t offer more than a shrug.

Rylen nodded at him, before following the path she’d taken. As soon as he entered the hall behind her, she said, “Close the door.” 

He did. The sound of the door closing echoed through the room and she turned to face him. He took a single step toward her, but no more. An anticipation hung in the air between them, though she was too far to reach. Neither of them moved further as she asked, “Well, Knight-Captain, do you know what I am?”

“Aye.” He’d known since he’d been in that office with her. It was impossible not to notice her magic pressing at the Fade around him. 

“And that doesn’t frighten you?” she asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Should it?”

The look in her eyes shifted as the hint of a smirk appeared on her face. She approached him with slow, steady steps. “Have you taken vows?”

He shook his head in response as she circled him. Though he could no longer see her, he felt her behind him and felt her breath at the back of his neck. Her voice was a whisper on his skin when she asked, “Have you ever been with a mage, Templar?”

“I’ve not.”

Her fingers trailed along the back of his vest to his arm. Even through the linen, he could feel the touch of her fingers. Whether it was magic or merely her, the electricity was enough for him to feel a tightening deep inside. He closed his eyes as she continued her path around him, fingers making their way to his chest before she dropped her hand. “People will talk.”

He opened his eyes to meet her gaze once more. “Let them.”

Her eyes widened in response and he stepped toward her and lowered his face towards hers. She stopped him with a finger on his lips. “These lips can go anywhere on my body that you want, except my mouth. Don’t ever kiss me.”

That was...unexpected. Disappointing as it was, he would work with it. He captured her finger in his mouth, sliding his lips all the way down it before giving it a gentle suck, reveling in the way her nostrils flared and eyelashes briefly fluttered. Though the moment was too short as she stepped back, sliding her finger back out of his mouth. She swallowed and her voice was on the breathy side as she said, “One night, and then you walk away.”

He gazed at her. There was something deep in him that said one night would never be enough, but he wasn’t fool enough to tell her that. He wanted that one night. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything.

As soon as he’d inclined his head in acknowledgement, she made a sharp gesture and the door flew open behind him. “Guard!”

Rylen kept his eyes locked on her as a guard rushed into the room to stand next to him. Persephone lifted her chin, not taking her eyes off him as she instructed, “Tell the knight-commander he can leave. His knight-captain will be…well taken care of tonight.”

“Acknowledged,” the guard said, though he didn’t move.

“Now, if you please.”

The guard nodded and disappeared from Rylen’s line of sight. He heard the door pulled closed behind him. 

Without another word, Persephone turned to walk down the long hallway, not bothering to wait to see if he would follow. She knew he would, he thought as his feet carried him after her. 

At the entrance to another room, she paused and turned to face him. “You can still leave.”

He searched her face, looking for some indication of why she’d tell him that. Not that he would. He was already too captivated to walk away from her, not without knowing if she was as extraordinary as she seemed. “Why would I want to?”

She opened the door and backed in, with him matching her step for step. “I can do things to you you’ve never seen before.”

When the door slammed closed behind him, he pulled her into his arms and ran his thumb over her lips, before catching the lower one and dragging it down her chin, tipping her face toward his. “As can I.”

“I doubt that,” she scoffed, “I’m a mage.”

He leaned toward her, lowering his lips to her ear. He ran his tongue around the shell and she shuddered as he whispered, “Exactly.”

Without giving her an opportunity to respond, Rylen slid his hand down her side and around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She ran her hands up his chest, though she surprised him when she flattened her hands to push him back away from her.

He swallowed as he took a step back, each breath heavy as desire coursed through him. Her fingers trailed back down his chest, along the buttons of his vest. “Take this off,” she said.

As though they moved on their own accord, he began to work the buttons as she stepped backward another step. When she tugged at the tie around her waist and he finally caught sight of her as her dress fell open, his fingers stumbled.

The only word that came to his now nearly blank mind was beautiful. His eyes tracked the movement of her dress as she slid it over her shoulders and down her arms until it finally fell in a puddle at her feet.

She was disorienting, and he could not look away. He didn’t want to. 

Rylen finished undoing the last button and shrugged out of his vest, tossing it on the floor next to her. Her gaze hadn’t left his, but her lips had parted slightly and her eyes darkened as she watched him.

He tried to keep the smile from his face at the desire plainly written on hers. This dance was affecting both of them in equal ways. He reached over his head for the back of his shirt and stepped toward her again, before pulling it off and adding it to the pile of clothing beneath him.

She broke eye contact, her eyes drifting downward toward his chest. He, in turn, gazed back at her, letting his eyes roam down the smooth expanse of her neck and shoulders, down to her breasts that seemed perfectly shaped to fit his hands, and the flare of her hips to her ample thighs. Beneath his gaze, her body moved in subtle ways—the slight lift of her chin and arch of her back, the pressing of her thighs together, and her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Like what you see?” he asked at her silence.

She dragged her eyes back up to his, and when they met desire arched in the air between them. Her chest rose with a breath, and as it fell she stepped back. He stepped forward, unable to resist the need to be near her. She smiled. “Mmm, yes, though I knew I’d like you, Templar.”

When he stepped forward once more, she didn’t move. A hand lifted to caress her cheek, her dark eyes burning as he tilted her face up. He conceded, “I want you, Persephone.”

Her nostrils flared as she let out a light huff of breath and said, “And I more than want you.”

“More than?” he asked as his fingers wandered down her neck, down between her breasts and further still, until he rested it on one hip. Her hands, in turn, slid up his arms to his shoulders, one wrapping around the back of his head. 

When she nodded, he didn’t know which one of them moved first or if they moved together, but he lifted her to him, fingers digging into her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He’d thought only to feel the softness of her neck under his lips, but when her fingers raked through his hair, sending tiny bolts of electricity down his spine, he responded with the scrape of his teeth.

Even more, she liked it, if the spasm of her body and the way she arched her back was any indication. He tried it again, with the same response. Persephone was not one for soft touches and gentle kisses. No, she wanted more. Maybe even needed more.

He took several steps forward and they tumbled together onto the bed and he quickly covered her body with his own. His mouth was at her neck, teeth scraping against her collarbone before he bit down on her shoulder, wrenching a cry of pleasure from her mouth.

Her mouth that he wanted to taste, but knew he couldn’t. He lifted his head to watch as he ran his thumb along her lips, parting them to thrust it inside. She teased his thumb with her tongue, with tiny flicks and swirls, as much as she could manage. He dragged his thumb out, down along the line of the tattoo at her chin and then further still over her neck, leaving a long, wet stripe.

Persephone shuddered as he blew on it and goosebumps rose across her skin. Not just goosebumps he realized when the hand that had continued down over her chest reached her breasts. A perfect fit, as he’d thought.

“Oh gods,” she groaned and arched against him when he squeezed one hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her head dropped back, pressing against the pillow and Rylen couldn’t help but wonder what expression she would make when she came.

He squeezed her nipple again and another ripple of pleasure crossed her face as her mouth dropped open in a soft exhale. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and he lowered his mouth back to her neck, intent on making his way further down her body.

He wanted to take his time, wanted to explore every inch of her skin, but there would be time enough for that later. Right now he needed to know what she sounded like, felt like, tasted like when she came.

When his mouth reached her other breast, he scraped his teeth over the stiff peak, eliciting another noise of pleasure from her. He lavished her with gentle kisses before taking it in his mouth. With his hand, he matched the movements of his mouth. Her hands clutched at the back of his head as she arched her back as though to get him even closer.

With reluctance, he dragged his attention back to her face. She’d lifted her head to watch him, her eyes dark and stormy with desire. He trailed a hand down her side, continuing over her hip and thigh to rest at her knee. They held each other’s gaze as he asked, “What do you need, Persephone?”

With a shuddering breath, she said, “Make me come.” 

“With pleasure.” He pressed her knee wide to make room for himself between her legs. He shifted into a more comfortable position, settling in as he wrapped one arm around her upper thigh.

When he looked back up at her, he realized she’d never taken her eyes off him. “Are you going to watch?” he asked as he ran the fingers of his other hands along the outside of her entrance, first one side, then the other.

Her nostrils flared as she lifted her chin, even as her body pulsed under his touch. “I am.” 

He couldn’t help the smile that sprung to his mouth. He liked that she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it, or to take it. He held her eyes with his as he tightened his grip on her leg and lowered his mouth.

####  ***

There was one benefit to being Viscountess of Kirkwall and it involved not having to leave her bed for the entire weekend. Somehow one night had turned into a day and half, which had then turned into two and now, three mornings later, she would rather not have to face the reality waiting outside her bedroom. She’d have to though. Her responsibilities wouldn’t disappear, nor would his.

Rolling to her side, she studied the man splayed across her bed on his stomach. She allowed herself the brief, fleeting moment to like how natural it felt for him to be in it next to her. In the soft light of dawn, she let her eyes trace the lines of his muscular body that rose and fell with each steady breath. She gazed at the lines of the tattoos and scars she’d learned, following them down to where the white sheet lay stark against the golden brown skin of his waist. His body was perfect in every way

As much as she preferred to remain right where she was in that bed with him, she slid out of it and, wrapping a robe around her, quietly made her way to the balcony. The sun had begun to rise as she looked out over Kirkwall and she knew their responsibilities could no longer be ignored, no matter how much she desired it. They’d managed to do so for one priceless weekend, but…she sighed. The noble families were making their way toward the Chantry for the morning service and she could ignore reality no longer.

His arm snaked around her waist, surprising her—she hadn’t heard him get out of bed or make his way toward her. 

Turning in his arms, she lifted her chin to look up at him. “Good morning.”

“It is,” Rylen said as he lifted his other hand to run his thumb over the tattoo on her lip and chin. There was something about the way he held her and the way he gazed down at her that made her feel…cherished. It was a feeling she hadn’t known in a very long time.

Swallowing against the unfamiliar warmth inside, she took a deep breath, lifted a hand to his chest, and leaned forward to press her lips to the hollow of his neck. His hand slid around the back of her head and he held her against him for several erratic beats of her heart.

It couldn’t last, so she stepped back to end whatever strange intensity had a hold over her when she was with him. She needed to make light of the situation—needed to show him that he was no different than any other man she’d been with. “Dare I ask where you learned that trick?” 

When he smiled, crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes as they lit up. The way his smile transformed his face was truly something to behold. He chuckled, “Other templars have talked about it before, but if I’m honest, I wasn’t sure it would work.”

She tilted her head at that. He wasn’t certain it would work? “You’ve really never been with a mage before?” At the shake of his head, she asked, “Why not?”

“I was assigned to a Circle,” he shrugged, “That’s fraternization.”

“But never?” She couldn’t quite pinpoint why that surprised her so much, except that he’d been exceptional. So exceptional she hadn’t sent him away the next morning and now three mornings later still didn’t want to let him go. 

“Never. Others did, but not me.”

With a haughty lift of her chin, she asked, “Then what did you think?”

Lowering his head to her neck, he kissed her collarbone before running his tongue up her neck to the soft spot behind her ear. With a scrape of his teeth that had a tremor running down her spine, he told her, “I have to be the luckiest man in Thedas.”

“Is that so? Then could I entice you back to bed one more time before you leave?”

His tongue snaked out over his lower lip and then he rolled it between his teeth. Persephone’s body was aching so beautifully from how he’d used those lips, that tongue, and those teeth on her. With a step back into the room, he tugged her toward the bed. “Glad to be of service.”

It was more than once, but eventually she at last watched him dress in silence. A heaviness replaced the bliss, and though she wished she could beckon him back, she couldn’t. The time had come to let him go. She should have let him leave without another word, but when he reached the door, she couldn’t stop herself. “Knight-Captain Clacher.”

His hand rested on the door handle and he looked over his shoulder at her. “Viscountess?”

“Thank you for a rather…delightful weekend.”

A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “The pleasure was all mine.”

“I assure you that I had more than my fair share,” she said.

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and with one last smolder in her direction, pulled open the door and left.

The heaviness inside of her shifted into a sharp pang, but she ignored it. It would do no good for her to get attached, no matter how good the man had proven to be between the sheets. They had their weekend of fun and now it was back to reality. 

Besides, nothing good could come of getting attached. Not when her fate had been foretold by the Lady of the Skies herself. Persephone sank back onto the bed and stared at the canopy above her, willing the uncomfortable sharpness inside her to subside.


	3. Chapter 3

“Clacher! You up to?” A booming voice sounded behind him. 

Rylen turned, wiping the dust from his brow. He’d been out here since sunrise, clearing rubble from the docks. They’d made some progress in the weeks they’d been in Kirkwall, yet it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know if it would ever be enough for the state of this city. Next to the devastation of Kirkwall, the burning of Starkhaven's Circle had been almost nothing.

“Geddes,” he greeted the man as he scooped a shovelful of debris out of the street. “Need something?”

“Need something? Yea, I do. Heard you got to the keep past weekend, when our Prinny was here.”

“Aye.” Rylen nodded as he dumped the collected rubble into the cart. Leaning against the shovel, he looked down the street at the rubble and wrecked buildings, magical blasts marring what was left of the quarter. They’d cleared enough to bring much needed supplies into this part of the city, but still, there was much work to be done.

“So,” Geddes continued, leaning against a nearby wall. “How’d you get that?”

“Help and I’ll tell you.” Rylen held out the shovel toward him.

Geddes rolled his eyes, but he took it. “Rumor’s that you was invited by the viscountess herself.”

Rylen silently watched Geddes toss a shovelful of debris into the cart. He considered how much he could or should share. The man had a mouth bigger than the Minanter and anything he said would spread through the barracks like a wall of fire.

“Well?” Geddes prompted. “You meet her?”

“Aye.”

Geddes whistled. “You're a jammy dodger, Clacher. I heard she—”

“Work or give me the shovel,” Rylen interrupted. After that weekend, he didn’t want to know what Geddes thought. He'd heard enough from their 'Prinny' to understand how other men saw Persephone Hawke.

“Oh come off it. The most notorious burd in all the Free Marches and all you can say is ‘work or gimme the shovel’? How’d you meet?”

With a sigh, Rylen grabbed it out of his hands. “She was in Rutherford’s office. I walked in, she heard my accent and thought I was interesting. That’s it.”

“Right.” Geddes rolled his eyes again. “Then invited you to Prinny’s dinner, just like that.”

“Just like that.”

“Come off it, min. I’m not born yesterday. There’s rumors that she—”

“Geddes.” The man’s name spilled out sharper than he’d intended, making Rylen wince. There was no getting out of it now. The man might be a gossip, but he wasn’t a fool. He wouldn't have made it this far if he was.

Geddes’s eyebrows shot up. “Struck a wee nerve, did I? You got a thing for her or something?”

“Enough blabber,” Rylen sighed as he pushed his shovel into the debris. He worked in silence, refusing to look at Geddes. 

Rylen had known Geddes since they were kids, running in the same crowd. They were two of the lucky ones. Had the Templars not accepted him for training when they had, giving him a new life and a purpose, he would be in a very different place right now.

“Never known you so tight lipped about a burd,” the other man ventured as he picked up a large piece of debris and moved it into the cart. “You know that tavern in Lowtown? Hanged Man, I think. Heard she’s regular... Fancy a sesh with me and the others tonight?”

Rylen considered the suggestion. She’d been clear in what she'd been offering, but…he wouldn't be in Kirkwall long and he would like to see her again. If there was any chance she might too… “Aye. I'm in.”

“You are? She as good as they say then?”

Rylen sighed again. “Better.”

“That’s pure barry!” Geddes laughed as he clapped Rylen on the shoulder. “Look at you, Clacher. Long way from the Sheaves, yeah?”

“Yeah. Long way from the Sheaves. There’s still work to be done before you get tanned tonight. Get on with it."

“Aye, aye, Knight-Captain.” Geddes gave him a mock salute. “You jammy bastard.”

***

She pushed open the door of the Hanged Man, keeping the hood of her cloak up even as she entered the warmth of the tavern. She purposefully moved toward the bar and ordered a drink before she bothered letting her gaze wander around the room.

She’d received Isabela’s message that morning. Her friend was back in Kirkwall and wanted to get together for old times’ sake. When Corff, the bartender, placed her drink in front of her, Persephone finally shifted her eyes to the table she and the few friends she had left often gathered, and her eyes immediately settled on the knight-captain she’d had in her bed the previous weekend. He was laughing with one of the other templars, his pale blue eyes sparkling even in the dim light.

“Hawke.” 

The voice surprised her. Persephone whipped her head around. “What are you doing here, Rutherford?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” he said as he threw some coin on the counter and signaled for several drinks. 

“Bela asked me to meet her.” 

Cullen shook his head and they waited for Corff to pour their drinks. Once they were on the bar in front of them, he attempted to collect them all into his hands. “It was supposed to be a fun night out. Well, it was nice while it lasted.”

“Why would you say that?” Persephone grabbed the extra mug he was struggling to wrangle. “I’ll carry this.” 

“Thanks. And you know why.” 

She turned her face again toward the table and this time, their eyes met across the crowded room. His eyes were no longer laughing, but instead held an intensity she knew all too well.

The moment was interrupted as Isabela sat down next to him, drawing the attention of everyone sitting around the table, including Rylen. Cullen sighed again, “Come on, let’s get over there.”

She followed him across the tavern, trailing him through the crowd that either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that their knight-commander and viscountess were both present. 

Persephone didn’t look at Rylen as she gave the mug to the only female templar at the table. The woman started in surprise at seeing Persephone and hurried to make room on the bench next to her. “Apologies, Viscountess, I didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

“I didn’t either,” Persephone told her as she squeezed in between the young woman and Cullen.

Cullen handed the last of his drinks to some of the men on the far side of the table. “There. Templars, this is Viscountess Hawke. Viscountess, you’ve just met Reiter, and that’s Albani, Hollis, Casey, Geddes…” Persephone’s eyes moved to each new person as they nodded when Cullen said each of their names. The last one, Geddes, winked at her, but she ignored him to land her gaze on Rylen as Cullen said, “And you know Rylen.”

“Knight-Captain Clacher,” she greeted him. “Good to see you.” 

“A pleasure.” The way his words slid down her skin had her remembering things she had no business remembering in a room full of people. His lips lightly twitched as he nodded at her. She couldn’t help but stare at them, remembering the way they’d felt against her skin.

“Hey, Hawke,” Isabela said before she draped herself over Rylen. 

Persephone smiled at Isabela before she shifted her eyes away, back toward the young templar on her right. “Reiter, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman responded. 

Persephone bit back a sigh. Tonight was going to be a long one if she insisted on calling her ma’am. Luckily, Cullen saved her, speaking around her to the young woman.

She heard Isabela’s giggle cut through the low hum of voices and pushed down the rising annoyance within her. She had no claim over the man. She told herself she wanted nothing more to do with him. If he moved on to Isabela, that would solve the strange heaviness in her chest whenever she thought of him. Besides, she and Isabela had had the same man before. The only difference was that Persephone always discarded them after one night, whereas Isabela was known to frequent the same bed.

That he might spend many nights with Isabela didn’t bother her. No, it couldn’t. Though the more she tried to convince herself, the more the lie grated at her. The way his strong hands felt on her body...his mouth on her skin…and that thing he did with her magic… Those moments would be impossible to forget. No, remembering the previous weekend would not benefit anyone, she thought.

Out of the side of her eye, she saw Isabela lift her fingers to run them along Rylen’s arm, pausing on the tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve. Several thin bands circled just above his wrists. Though covered, Persephone knew the thick lines ran from toward his elbow, ending in gentle points just shy of more bands. And those were only the forearms. Isabela purred, “These are nice.”

Persephone had spent enough time studying those tattoos in the soft light of morning. Those and the others he had inked further up his arm and across his chest and back. His defined muscles had been firm under her fingertips as she explored and traced each elegant line. Would Isabela show the art on his body the same attention she had? Would he replace the memories of her hands with those of another woman?

“I need another drink,” she told Cullen as she pushed herself up from her seat, adding a conciliatory apology to the woman on her other side.

“Already? But you haven’t finished that one,” Cullen observed. She ignored him. 

She didn’t make eye contact with anyone as she escaped to the bar, snagging Isabela’s usual spot. Corff was busy with a few drunk patrons, so Persephone leaned against the smooth wooden surface and took the moment to breathe.

“Hawke! My efflorescent blossom.”

Persephone glanced over, rolling her eyes at the bothersome patron she and Isabela referred to as ‘Bad Poet.’ “Get lost.”

“A seed has grown within me, its creeping tendrils ensnaring my heart. You carnivorous flower, you.”

“That’s terrible.” A thrill slid its way down her spine at hearing his lilting voice behind her. It wasn’t quite the brogue that came out in the heat of passion, but every part of her body hummed in recognition.

She glanced over her other shoulder at him as Bad Poet sputtered his objections. “Templar.”

“Viscountess.” He stepped forward to lean against the bar next to her. With a gesture toward Corff, he asked, “Buy you a drink?”

“If you must.”

A smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth and she turned to stare behind the bar. Corff was still on the far end finishing up with the other patrons. As they waited in a suspenseful silence, her eyes drifted down to his forearms on the bar top. When had a man’s forearms ever been such a turn on? He’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing the dark ink of his tattoos. She traced the lines of his musc— _tattoos_ with her eyes. When he tightened one hand into a fist, she swallowed.

“Like what you see?”

She lifted her eyes to evenly meet his smoldering gaze. “You know I do.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Curse the man for making her feel these… _things_ she shouldn’t be feeling. After already having spent an entire weekend with him, another night was out of the question. She wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —make more exceptions for him. If she wanted sex, she could go pick up anyone. There was that one guard, one of Vallen’s new recruits, who followed her around like a mabari in heat. She should find him and see if he was interested in helping her ease the pressure from the cursed templar standing next to her.

“What’ll it be?” Corff interrupted her impassioned thoughts when he appeared in front of them. 

Persephone blinked at him as Rylen looked at her expectantly. Corff would want a drink order. With an uneven swallow, she said, “My regular.” 

Corff nodded and turned to Rylen, who asked, “Do you have whisky?”

“We got whiskey with an e. You want your fussy northern stuff, get to Hightown.”

“Whatever you’ve got,” Rylen gave the bartender an easy smile as he reached a hand into his pocket. “Not big on the dear stuff myself.”

Corff actually smiled before he nodded and disappeared to pour their drinks. The ease with which Rylen had charmed Corff had her thoughts returning to him once again. She’d also noticed that Corff had poured him a glass from the unmarked bottle she knew held the better Markham whiskey, instead of the normal Kirkwallian vintage most patrons got.

“Have you been here before?” she asked as he laid some coin on the counter.

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“No reason.” Corff set their drinks in front of them: a glass of Antivan red for Persephone and Rylen’s whiskey with an e.

Rylen turned, leaning his hip against the counter as he held his drink toward her. “Cheers.”

Persephone tapped her glass against his. “To ours.”

As he lifted his glass to his lips, Persephone broke eye contact and looked away, telling herself she should get away before she did something she regretted. Her eyes landed on Isabela making her way over to them. Perfect. Isabela would be perfect. Persephone wouldn’t stay to watch her fawn all over her knight— No. Not hers. _The_ knight-captain.

“I wondered where you’d wandered off to,” Isabela teased as she sidled up next to him. “Consorting with the viscountess, are we?”

Rylen hadn’t taken his eyes off Persephone, but she couldn’t bear to watch. She gave Isabela a tight smile, hating the inkling of jealousy developing inside her. You have no claim on him, she reminded herself. Besides, Isabela was clearly interested and Persephone wasn’t one to stand in a friend’s way. It would be good to have him beyond her reach.

“Thanks for the drink,” she told Rylen as she lifted her drink in toast to them, before telling Isabela, “Let’s catch up later.”

Isabela waved her away and she left, making her way back to their table, squeezing through drunk patrons swaying in time to the music around her. 

It wasn’t until much later in the evening when she and Isabela both ended up at the table full of templars that Persephone caught up on her seafaring activities. She was in Kirkwall somewhat temporarily to resupply and then she’d be back out on the sea.

“So…” Isabela started, a playful tone in her voice, “It appears you have an admirer.”

Isabela was pointedly staring across the room. Persephone twisted in her seat to follow her line of sight and her eyes quickly found him. Rylen. They’d been dancing around each other all night, or at least, she’d been avoiding him even as she remained intimately aware of his every move. His mere presence in the same room had been a distraction she wasn’t prepared to contend with. Even now he was watching her, that ever-present quiet intensity smoldering in his gaze.

“That templar?” Persephone tore her eyes away from him and turned back to her friend with a shrug. 

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you long enough to even notice anyone else. Believe me, I tried,” she pouted. 

Isabela’s words had…something stirring to life inside her. It was an unfamiliar feeling, some odd melding of joy and relief and dread…but no. “His loss.”

“Loss? I doubt that,” Isabela snorted, “He looks like a man who knows exactly what he wants.”

Persephone swallowed and looked down into her glass. 

“Hawke?” In the silence that followed, Persephone could feel Isabela studying her before she leaned back again in her chair. She glanced up to see her friend with a smug look on her face. “Oh, aren’t you just darling?”

Persephone closed her eyes as she took a slow breath in and a slow breath out. Now that Isabela had caught wind of the truth, she’d never hear the end of it. 

“I didn’t believe it when I heard the rumor,” Isabela continued as she turned in her seat to stare at him. “A templar?” 

“Bela, don’t.”

“I never thought I’d see the day.”

“You haven’t.” Isabela leaned forward again, her golden eyes sparkling—from excitement or the low light of the tavern, Persephone couldn’t say which. “Bela…” she warned.

“Look, what can it hurt? He’s leaving soon anyway, right? Enjoy yourself, and let him go when the time comes.” She was right, wasn’t she? He wouldn’t be here long enough for anything to develop. Besides, he’d easily been the best she’d been with in...longer than she cared to admit. Which was ever. 

At Persephone’s silence, a knowing grin appeared on Isabela’s face and she slid something across the table. “Here. Leave it with Norah or Corff in the morning.”

When she pulled her hand back, her room key sat on the table between them. Persephone shook her head. “I can’t. Where will you stay?”

“I know a place in Hightown I can crash,” Isabela told her with a wink. “Go on. Take it.”

She turned to look at Rylen who was leaning with his back against the bar conversing with Cullen. As she watched him, his eyes found hers, his gaze piercing whatever was left of her objections. Persephone tucked the key away. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’ve never pretended otherwise.”

“Thanks, Bela.” 

Persephone finished the last of her wine and pushed herself to her feet. His eyes followed as she wove her way through the crowd and approached them. “I believe it’s my turn for a round.”

“Not for me, thanks,” Cullen said. “I’ve got to, ah, get back to the Gallows. Enjoy.”

With that, he disappeared, leaving Rylen and Persephone alone. He hadn’t moved since she’d approached. Persephone stared back until his face brightened into a mischievous smile. “Cullen warned me off you.”

“Sound advice. You should heed it.” He shrugged noncommittally and Persephone stepped up to the bar next to him. “Whisky?”

“No.” His next movement was fluid as he twisted, placing one hand on either side of her, trapping her against the bar. 

If any other man had dared, Persephone would’ve already blasted him to the farthest reaches of the room. He seemed to be expecting that reaction as she could feel his magical defenses falling into place, but there was no threat in his action. It was as though she knew on the most basic level that she could trust him.

The thought terrified her. 

“I’m not interested in a drink.” As his lowered voice rumbled through her, every sense came alive. He wasn’t touching her, but his warmth surrounded her. 

His body tensed behind her as she turned her head to look at him from the side of her eye. “Then what do you want, Templar?”

He let the question hang between them as she took in several deep breaths. He smelled faintly of orange blossoms, wet earth, and something…spicy. On anyone else the combination might have been too much, but it suited him. 

When he finally spoke, the intensity of the word made her breath catch in her chest. “You.”

***

The next morning, he was lying flat on his back with her thighs wrapped around his face when someone interrupted them. He couldn’t hear what exactly Persephone said to the other person, but she tugged on the Fade and sent a blast of something at the door before breaking free of the grip he had on her. 

“What…” he started as he sat up, but she was already at the door, shaking her head as she locked it. 

“Isabela,” she muttered as she paced back toward the bed.

“What’d she say?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. She had one knee on the bed and pushed him back against it.

“Pers—” He cut off as her fingers wrapped around his erection and she gave him several firm strokes before she swung her leg over his hips to straddle him. Though he’d rather have finished what he’d been doing when interrupted, she’d clearly decided otherwise. She quickly positioned him at her entrance and sunk down on top of him.

She rode him hard. It was all he could do to hold on and pick up the slack when she began to falter. When she’d taken her pleasure, and he his, she lay sprawled across his chest, absentmindedly tracing the tattoos with her fingertips.

When her breathing slowed and he’d caught his own breath, he asked, “Will you tell me what she said now?” 

To his disappointment, she rolled off his chest and lay on her back beside him, though she did answer him. “She offered to help satisfy you.” 

“That’s all?” He shifted to his side so he could see her face, and found her staring up at the ceiling with a firm jaw. Rylen ran a hand along her side, up over her chest to her face and tilted it toward him. She refused to meet his eyes. He asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t need help,” she grumbled.

“Nae, you dinna,” he laughed as he ran his hand back down her side, urging her toward him. She took his direction and rolled to face him. He slid an arm under her head and the other around her back, holding her flush against him. The way she felt in his arms was a feeling he enjoyed far too much.

He thought that was the end of that until she asked, “Are you? Satisfied?”

He slightly pulled his head back to look at her, though she kept her face buried in his chest. The question wasn’t one he’d expect from her, but then, she already kept him on his toes as no other. He’d caught the hint of vulnerability in the question. Persephone put on a strong face, but she wasn’t infallible.

The truth was that he wanted her and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anyone before. He needed her to know that it wasn’t enough. “I am not.”

She snapped her face up and for the briefest moment, he could see the hurt in her eyes. Before she could say anything, he lifted his hand to her cheek and told her, “I wasna satisfied with one night, or one weekend, and now still I want more.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him with wide eyes. In the light of morning, they were brighter than he’d seen. Still dark and stormy, though he’d willingly let that storm consume him and swallow him whole for as long as he could. A mischief appeared in them as she reached her hand down to wrap it around his length. “Then what do you say to returning to the keep with me and showing me more of that famed templar stamina?” 

“I’d like that,” he chuckled, “but I have duties I canna neglect today.” 

“How disappointing,” she said as she released him and tried to roll away. 

Rylen tightened his grip on her and said, “I’ll come by when I’m done?” 

“Please do.” A hint of a smile appeared at the edges of her lips and Rylen stared at them long after she finished speaking. He longed to taste them, but instead he ran his thumb over her lips and down her chin, along the path of her tattoo. It was the closest he could get.

She held his gaze for an extra beat of his heart, before slipping out of his arms and out of bed. Rylen quickly followed suit and they both dressed in silence. As he did, he thought about how he could repay Geddes for the suggestion he come to the tavern last night. “Where in Kirkwall can one get a bottle of Starkhaven whisky?” 

“I’ll ensure there’s some for you tonight.” 

He shook his head. “Not for me, for my mate Geddes.”

“Geddes…He was with you last night, was he not?” 

“He was.”

She shook out her cloak and asked, “Why get him a bottle?”

“Without him, I wouldna been here last night.” He sat down on the bed to pull on a boot and Persephone looked up at him in surprise. “Least I can do. In thanks.” 

She lifted an eyebrow. “Seems I’m indebted to him as well. He’ll have his thanks, I’ll see to it myself.” 

Rylen finished tying the laces of his boots in silence before heading for the door. Persephone was fully dressed, sitting on the arm of a chair watching him. He resisted going to her and instead turned the key to unlock the door. 

“Until later then?” she asked.

“At your service,” he told her with a wink, before pulling the door open and stepping through it.

When he descended the stairs into the tavern, Persephone’s friend from the previous night—Isabela was her name—lounged at a table near the entrance. She’d not been subtle in her interest the night before. Though there had once been a time he’d have returned her interest, Persephone was the only woman he now desired.

The woman eyed him blatantly as he approached. When he was near enough for her to not have to shout, she said, “Well, don’t you look well fucked? I’m impressed you’re walking.” 

A smile crept to his lips. “You should see her.” 

Isabela snorted in laughter before making a show of dragging her eyes down and back up his body. “Oh, I bet.”

He shook his head and with a goodbye, made his way toward the door. She called after him, “When she loses interest, come find me.”

Rylen stepped into the cool Lowtown morning. What residents remained in this part of the city were already going about their business. As he walked back to the Gallows, he tried to catalogue the hardest hit locations to ensure they were a part of the ever expanding list of places that needed attention.

That would be his first order of business this morning, once he’d gotten back to the barracks. He’d barely stepped inside when he heard Geddes’s loud voice from the common room. There’d be no escaping him.

As soon as he entered the room, Geddes leapt to his feet and shouted, “Clacher! Where’d you get last night? Couldna find you, min.” 

Rylen gestured for him to follow into the hall and Geddes did, clapping him on the back when he reached him. “You was with your burd, were you? How’d you do?” 

“She’s sending you a bottle of whisky. In thanks.” 

Geddes let out a loud guffaw. “Aye, Clacher, she’s something.” 

“That she is, Geddes, that she is.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Persephone stretched, enjoying that delicious soreness throughout her body after another night with the knight-captain. _Her_ knight-captain. It was a fleeting thought, one she shouldn’t entertain, but she liked the way it sounded.

She smiled as he moved beside her, bringing their bodies flush together, and he ran his tongue along the shell of her ear. She shuddered as he lazily moved his hand over her hip, trailing roughened fingers over her abdomen. “And here I thought I was insatiable,” she teased.

His laugh rumbled in her ear and reverberated through her body. She liked the warmth it gave her deep inside. Well, it could have been his laugh or it could have been what his hand was currently doing between her legs. He pulled her thigh back to give himself better access while his mouth worked along her neck. It hadn’t been that long that they’d been seeing… _sleeping_ together, but he’d already learned her body as though he’d always known her. As though he’d had years to understand her instead of handfuls of nights. 

When they lay together in the afterglow, the first light of morning at last broke through the open balcony doors and bathed them in golden sunlight. Basking in the warmth, wrapped in his arms, she felt cherished…and wanted. 

Persephone hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been until she’d caught this tiny glimpse of what she’d never had.

But Kirkwall was stirring to life, which meant their night together was at an end. She turned her face to kiss the arm under her neck before she tried to roll away, but he held her fast. Her rational mind told her to stop this foolishness, to nip it in the bud, but there was another part of her that liked the way his fingers felt in her hair as he smoothed it from her face.

He surprised her by asking, “Do you have a nickname?”

Persephone stilled as she met his gaze—a gaze that made her feel as though she were the most important person in the world. “I…yes, I do.”

“What is it?”

She hesitated. “Nobody’s used it in a long time.”

He propped himself up on his elbow and again smoothed her hair back. Persephone closed her eyes, savoring his touch. “Tell me?”

“Why?”

“Honest?” he asked. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled a soft, gentle smile that made her feel things she should not be feeling. She wasn’t capable of them. She wasn’t. “Persephone’s hard to say when I can barely remember my own name.”

The smile tugged at her mouth and she shook her head at him in disbelief. “If it were your choice, what would you call me?”

He leaned forward and peppered kisses along her forehead. “Beautiful, perfect, the best lover I’ve ever had.”

“You’re such a charmer.” The smile broke forth, no longer able to be contained.

Rylen smiled back at her. “In that case, I’ll call you—”

“Effie,” she interrupted, “Call me Effie.”

“Effie,” he murmured as he lifted a hand to run his thumb over her tattoo. “It suits you.”

***

There had been a shift in the winds of Kirkwall. Instead of the winds that ran down the coastline, they were now coming directly toward the city from the sea. It could simply be a storm, or it could be the winds of change: a warning from the gods. Even the birds had quieted this morning, taking refuge underneath eaves and in what little trees were tucked away in the private courtyards of Hightown.

It had been too long since she’d walked the streets of her city—too long since she’d seen the progress of rebuilding after what Anders had done. Flanked by a couple guards, she descended the steps of the keep into Hightown. This part of the city was near spotless: whatever damages remained from the explosion were tucked away behind high walls or covered with coats of paint and new growth.

The trellis at the bottom of the stairs had been rebuilt, though it was shocking in its bareness without the once-omnipresent floral vines creeping up it. Even the scorched ground that surrounded it had been cleaned at some point as it was again that droll grey of the city instead of blackened stone. It had been little more than a few months, and though she should not be surprised by the speed with which the residents of Hightown cleaned their common areas, she was disappointed that speed had not extended beyond the bounds of the wealthy.

Entering Lowtown, it was plain to see the relief efforts had yet to make even a dent in the devastation. Cullen had quickly organized what remained of the city’s Templars and those that poured in from nearby garrisons to support the rescue efforts. He’d directed their efforts here, in the areas that needed the help and had not the coin to pay for it.

She’d always thought Cullen was one of the good ones, though she hadn’t been certain he would be strong enough. When she’d met him, he’d been little more than the shell of a man consumed by his own traumas. She didn’t know what had made him the man he was, but in the end his strength prevailed. Now he continued to show that strength through his actions in serving Kirkwall. He seemed to care for the people of the city almost as much as she did. 

Neither of them were Kirkwallian, but they both loved the city, flaws and all.

She made her way through Lowtown, stopped every so often by a citizen brave enough to talk to her about the state of the city, though most avoided her. She knew people feared her. The two guards Bran insisted she take with her were more for show that actual protection.

A baker had been explaining to her how the destruction made it nearly impossible for him to get enough firewood for his ovens when at the periphery of her vision she caught sight of a group of templars rounding a corner. She flicked her eyes over to them, and they caught on the black tattoos up Rylen’s arms peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his sweat-soaked shirt. The way the fabric clung to his upper body left little room for imagination. Effie was raking her eyes over his well-defined chest when the baker cleared his throat next to her. Effie realized she’d been caught staring. Focusing her attention back on the baker, she told him, “Send a message to Seneschal Bran and I’ll have him look into it.”

With a nod, he turned away. When Effie glanced back at the group of templars, they’d settled under the shade of a building, one of the little patches found at this hour in Lowtown. Rylen leaned back against a wall and though he seemed to be joking with the others, his eyes were intently focused on her.

It had been some days since she’d last seen him. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that part, but there was about the yearning she had for him when he wasn’t near. Even now she felt it. An idea formed in her head, and before she could convince herself otherwise, she made for him directly.

“Knight-Captain Clacher,” she called as she drew close to the laughing group. Those with their backs to her turned to watch her approach.

Rylen pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward before giving her a curtailed bow. “Viscountess Hawke.” 

She tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes. The features of his face remained impassive, though his eyes smoldered on. “I’d like to see the work your templars have done.”

He nodded again. “Anytime.”

“Now, if you please.”

One side of his mouth tilted up in amusement. “Of course.” 

He gestured toward the corner the group had rounded earlier and before Effie could step forward, one of her guards did. She held out a hand and the man froze. “Stay here.” 

“But Viscountess Hawke, Seneschal Bran said—”

“I don’t care what Bran said. I am your viscountess, am I not?”

“You are.”

“Then you will stay here. That is an order.”

The guards exchanged a look, but when the other one shrugged, the first nodded his concession. They joined the templars in the shade as Effie again started toward the corner. 

Rylen caught up with her as they turned it, and she hesitated at the destruction in front of her. Walls were blackened and crumbling and most of the rubble along the road had merely been pushed to the edges so traffic could get through, but it hadn’t yet been cleared. 

Effie should have paid more attention to the damaged buildings and piled debris, but with Rylen next to her it was difficult to focus on anything else.

Further down the road a lone templar stood next to a cart. As Rylen greeted him, the young man dropped the shovel he’d been holding and gaped at her. “You’re the—you’re the viscountess? Viscountess Hawke?”

“I am.”

“Maker preserve me.” He folded his hands together and looked up toward the sky.

Rylen frowned. “What are you on about, Githens?”

“She’s a heathen, ser.”

His frown deepened. “And?”

“And may the Maker preserve—the Maker preserve me from her treachery!”

Effie rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen enough here.” She didn’t wait for a response as she pivoted toward the street and strode away. 

Rylen stayed behind an extra moment to say something to the young templar, but again it wasn’t long before he caught up to her. “Viscountess, forgive the boy, he’s—”

“He’s an idiot,” she snapped as she abruptly stopped. Her annoyance had propelled her further down the road than she’d realized.

“Effie, he’s a kid,” Rylen said from next to her. At his words, she slowly twisted to face him. He was defending the young man’s behavior? Perhaps she didn’t know him at all. She took a breath and as she blew it back out, he continued, “I’ll talk to him. It won’t happen again.” 

She couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice as she searched his eyes. She asked, “Why are you defending him?” 

Rylen looked back down the street toward where the boy would be standing. He sighed, “He is young and spent too much time with the wrong people. I’m working with him.” 

“Do you agree?” 

His eyebrows knitted closer together as he looked back down at her. “About what?”

“What he said. About my treachery.” The words slipped out more bitterly than she intended.

Effie took slower, deeper breaths as he gazed down at her. The silence dragged on as he considered his answer. He’d known that she was an apostate and though they’d never discussed faith, he was a reasonable man. It wasn’t relevant to what they were doing. “Aye, you are treacherous,” he said at last. 

“Then what—” she started, but stopped when he stepped closer. Though he didn’t touch her, he might well have as the nearness of him was as irresistible. 

Rylen lowered his head toward hers to murmur, “At least your body is.”

“My body?” Effie didn’t know what that had to do with what they’d been discussing. 

“Treacherous earth I long to explore. Treacherous, because I ache to be lost in you.” The words had rolled off his tongue with the heavier Starkhaven brogue she’d only heard in the throes of passion and though he did not touch her, she could almost feel him caressing her skin. 

His gaze fell to her lips when she caught the lower one between her teeth. His nostrils slightly flared and his throat rippled with a swallow, before dragging his eyes back up to her face. The slow burning intensity in them inflamed the burgeoning desire within her.

A cart rumbled by and interrupted the moment. Effie tore her gaze away and watched his throat work as he swallowed. She followed the movement down to the hollow of his throat, and further down to the tattoos that peeked out from the neck of his shirt.

He’d given voice to what she’d felt—that whatever it was they were doing could be perilous should they continue down this path. 

Rylen lifted a hand as though he might reach for her, but tightened it into a fist and dropped it back to his side as though he’d realized where they were.

She swallowed as she stepped back from him. “Then perhaps it’s best you not have the opportunity to be lost.”

“Effie—” he started, but a shout down the street interrupted him. 

They both snapped their heads toward the sound. The group of templars had returned to their jobsite and her guards were headed in their direction.

“I should go,” she said. A groove appeared between his eyebrows and he looked as though he may say something, but the guards reached them before he could. “Thank you for the tour, Knight-Captain. Kirkwall owes you a great debt.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She had to put some distance between them before she gave him hope that there could ever be more. There couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be fair to him to pretend. 

***

Cullen focused on the sheet of paper in front of him, adding notes along one side before he folded it and handed it to Rylen. “I’m reassigning your unit to the docks. Carver’s been overseeing the rebuilding of one of the receiving bays, but if we could finish it, it’ll allow more supplies into the city.”

Rylen nodded his understanding. The docks were a part of the city that had been hurriedly rebuilt immediately following the explosion, but the repairs had been shoddy. In the months that followed, they’d quickly fallen into disrepair.

“Carver will give you more details when you arrive.”

Rylen had not crossed paths with Knight-Lieutenant Carver often, but he knew enough of the man to know he had a decent head on his shoulders. He also knew that the man was Effie’s brother, though they seemed to share little beyond a last name.

“Anything else?” Rylen asked.

Cullen shook his head. “You’ll be there for a few days at least, then we’ll see where we are. Hawke sent over a few locations the keep would like us to prioritize.”

Effie. He’d not heard from her since that day in Lowtown. He’d not meant to tell her he was falling for her, but he had, and now he couldn’t take the words back. He’d felt the changes in her the more they were together, and he’d thought if she knew that there could be more, maybe…it didn’t matter. She’d been clear from that first night that what they had was temporary and now he’d spooked her.

“What locations?” he asked.

“Mostly in Lowtown. Apparently she took a tour of the city.” Cullen shook his head and sighed, “We’re doing all we can with the resources we have.”

Rylen gave him as encouraging a smile as he could muster, though it wasn’t much. “I'm sure she understands that, ser.” 

“I hope so.” Cullen gave another exhausted sigh. “Thanks, Rylen. You can go.”

Rylen nodded at Cullen one last time and left his office. 

Once he and his group arrived at the docks, Carver was easily located. His group’s loud chatter and laughter leading him directly to them. At Rylen’s approach, they all paused, exchanging uneasy glances with one another.

This was going to go well.

Carver broke away from the group and approached. Rylen sent his men to join the others as Carver greeted him, “Knight-Captain.”

“Knight-Lieutenant Carver,” he acknowledged the man in turn. “Do you need something?”

“The men were talking just now…” he started, hesitating as he cast a glance back at the other templars. “There’s a rumor that you’ve been seeing my sister.”

“And?” Rylen glared at the men behind Carver. Since he’d arrived, Carver’s group had been staring at the two men, watching their exchange instead of working. “Get to work! That dock won’t build itself.”

Carver cast another glance over his shoulder, then said, “You’ve heard the rumors about her?”

Rylen didn’t have time for rumors. Not in the mood he was in when it came to Effie, and not when there was work to be done. “Idle gossip, nothing more. Don’t listen to it.”

He started toward the group, but Carver stopped him. “It’s not. I’ve known her my whole life. Most of it’s true.”

“Your point?”

“Ser, there’s a reason she’s alone in that big tower of hers. Maybe you haven’t seen it yet, but you will.” Carver lowered his voice. “I assume you know what she is, but not what she has done and what she is capable of.”

“You’ve spent too much time around Prince Vael,” Rylen told him, once again moving to pass and once again stopped by the other man.

“If you know what’s good for you, you will steer well clear. The others have. There is a darkness in her that cannot be tamed.”

“ _Tamed_? What do you mean?”

“She needs to be controlled. Magic was made to serve man.”

Rylen shook his head. “With family like you, who needs friends? Let me pass.”

Carver pressed his lips together in a thin line as he stepped to the side. Before Rylen passed to join the group, he paused. “And Carver? Do not speak to me of her again.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rylen was in a foul mood by the time he was relieved of his duties. Throughout the day, Carver’s words had festered alongside his own frustrations. The work was mindless and had given him ample time to consider what, if anything, he could do about Effie. He may have misstepped, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. 

So when he was done with his work, he didn’t return to the Gallows and instead headed directly for Hightown. The stairs of this city were never-ending, even more so than Starkhaven. Each one was an eternity as he climbed his way to her. Even when he arrived at the door of the keep, there were still more to her office…or her bedroom.

Bran stood outside the antechamber of her office, taking notes as a noble complained at him. At Rylen’s approach, Bran interrupted the man and stepped into his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Is she here?” Rylen asked.

“She is occupied.” Bran’s stare dared Rylen to argue with him, which wasn’t what Rylen was here to do. The man was simply doing his job as her seneschal. 

“Tell her I’m here,” he sighed. 

Bran gave him a pointed look down and then back up his body. 

“I’ll wait in her room,” Rylen added.

Bran waved him away. “She will be informed.”

Nobody stopped him on the way. Once inside, he made his way to the washing pitcher to clean his face and hands. Coming in this unkempt state had not been the best decision, but what was done was done.

He’d barely finished patting his face dry when the door opened and clicked shut again behind him. When he turned, he found her closer than he’d expected with no more than a step between them.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I want you.”

She remained stiff-backed as she stared at him. Rylen clenched his jaw and fought the urge to say more. He’d already said more than he should and now it was up to her. If she kicked him out, he would go, disappointed as he would be to do so.

“Why?”

At her question, he let out a slow breath through his nose. It wasn’t the response he’d wanted, but it was a start. He told her, “I’m not yet satisfied.”

She broke eye contact and turned her face away from him. He wished he could know what was going on in her head, but he couldn’t. All he could do was hope that there was still more for them…that she wasn’t done with him either.

When she faced him again, she stared on the smudges of dirt at his neckline. “You’re very dirty.”

It was a deflection, but he would take it. “You know I am, Effie.”

Her nostrils flared as her eyes lifted to his, and in them he saw the same fire that burned inside him every time he was with her. Nae, every time he thought of her. 

“Show me,” she said.

Rylen couldn’t prevent himself from smiling at the quickness of her tone. He reached his arms over the back of his head and grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Her darkening eyes held his almost throughout, but flickered down over his chest just as he tossed his shirt to the side.

All it took was one step to close the space between them, though he still didn’t touch her. Her nostrils flared and she lifted her chin. “Now the trousers.” 

“No.”

Her eyebrows lifted at his response. “No?”

He lifted a hand to her shoulder and slowly trailed his fingers along the neckline of her dress. When they started to dip, she inhaled sharply. Rylen’s breath quickened at the softness of her skin under his overworked hands.

She didn’t stop him, even as his fingers trailed lower to the valley between her breasts. He swore he could feel the beating of her heart beneath his fingertips, though it may have been his own pulse pounding in his ears. Their hearts seemed to beat as one.

“Your turn,” he said.

“My...turn?” The way her eyes stayed slightly glazed over as she asked the question emboldened him.

“Take off your dress.” 

She blinked several times and her throat rippled as she swallowed. “I’ll have to call a servant.”

No, there’d be no interruptions now. “No, you won’t.” He ran his fingers back up the other side of the neckline to her shoulder as he circled around to stand behind her. 

A row of smooth buttons ran down the center of her back. Blasted dress. He wanted her out of it, but it was expensive. A luxury. The intricate neckline told him as much as the buttons. With a frustrated sigh, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and got to work.

Each tiny button was a torture as they caught on the edges of the hole, as though they were set with the intent to thwart him. As he worked, each undone button revealed more of her pale skin; and every so often, he brushed his thumbs over the newly bared parts to make her shudder.

It wasn’t just the dress that was a luxury, but _her_. Persephone Hawke was much too good for the likes of him, yet somehow he had her anyway. At least for now.

He was halfway down her back when there was enough give for him to fully expose the tattoo inked across it. He had seen it often in the nights they’d been together, but now he had a chance to really look at it in the bold light of afternoon.

Dropping to one knee, fingers still focused on the troublesome buttons, he let his gaze wander over it. It was mostly straight lines, arranged in what appeared to be words, or at least some collection of letters in another language. The shape of the tattoo on her face was repeated several times amidst the shapes: an arrow pointing upward. He’d no idea what her tattoo meant, but it was compelling all the same. The lines of black ink drew him in.

“Find something you like back there?” She shifted, arching her back to look over her shoulder at him.

“Tease,” he told her as he pressed a quick kiss to her back and refocused on the buttons. The sooner he got her out of the dress, the sooner he’d have her. Lucky for him, the bottom half was easier than the top. Or maybe he’d just gotten enough practice. Either way, she was finally naked like he wanted her.

He rose to his feet and turned her to face him. Somehow she looked more impressive without clothes. Rylen had the inkling that he was in over his head, but he no longer cared. He had to have her.

“My, what talented hands you have, Knight-Captain,” she teased. 

“Would I be here if they weren’t?” He brushed his hands up her arms, over her shoulders and neck, until he cupped her face in his hands. As his thumb moved up over her tattoo, she took it in her mouth. Her tongue began with a gentle swirl, though quickly shifted to hollowed cheeks as she sucked.

It had the intended effect on his body. The wicked look that appeared in her eyes told him she knew it, too. 

He slid his thumb from between her lips, lips he couldn’t wait to see swollen and red, and ran it down over her chin and neck, leaving a wet trail in its wake. “Give yourself to me, Effie,” he urged. “Let me have you. Even if only for tonight.”

She didn’t have to say anything—he could see the hesitation in her eyes—but he needed this. He needed her. 

She swallowed, and something in her eyes shifted. With the determination he’d fallen for, she nodded up at him. 

His voice was gruffer than he’d intended as he said, “Get on the bed.”

As she laid herself out on it, Rylen quickly discarded his trousers and joined her, pressing the full length of his body against her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him tighter against her, and rolled her hips against his, sending a frisson of pleasure down his spine.

“Behave,” he murmured in her ear, followed by the scrape of his teeth against the outer shell. “And I’ll show you just how talented my hands really are.” He nibbled at the sensitive spot behind her ear before letting his lips roam down her neck.

“Only your hands?” she breathed when he swirled his tongue at the base.

“What else?” 

“You have a rather talented mouth, too.” 

He swept his tongue across her collarbone, relishing in the tiny tremor that ran through her, before sucking the skin at her shoulder. He didn’t stop until he knew he’d leave a bruise, savoring the knowledge that she’d be marked come morning. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring for them, so all he could do was take full advantage to make sure she never forgot it…or him.

He teased his way lower, kissing wide circles around each of her breasts before giving each taut nipple a blow. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she tried to guide him in the direction she wanted, but he ignored her, moving lower still to spread kisses across her stomach as his hands followed to grip her hips.

“What are you—” she cut off with a sharp inhale as he slid his hands from the outside of her thighs to the sensitive skin on the inside.

He paused to look up at her. “What was that?”

She let out a soft, but annoyed, groan. “Didn’t you miss something?” 

“You have hands.” He smiled as he pushed her thighs open and settled between them. “Use them.”

The next groan was neither soft nor annoyed when Rylen ran his fingers through the curls at the apex of her thighs, teasing at her entrance. He could smell the sweet earthiness of her desire and she shifted her hips ever so slightly to open wider for him. At the invitation, he spread her lips and buried his face between her thighs.

“Oh yes,” she moaned as he tasted her. He took his time to stroke and thrust with his tongue, took his time to discover more about what drove her to the edge. There was always more to learn about her. 

Before long, her hands clenched the blanket next to her hips and the sounds coming out of her mouth were anything but coherent. He kissed the inside of her thigh as he finally slipped two fingers inside her. She immediately clenched around him, pulling him deeper. When he began to stroke them inside her, she shuddered and his name slipped from her lips in a long groan.

He sucked on her inner thigh, another mark for her to remember him by, as he worked her in steady thrusts. When he was again satisfied with his work, he lifted his head to watch. He wanted to see her and to remember the way she looked when she came undone for him.

One of Effie’s hands joined his, rubbing her clit with increasing desperation as he pumped his fingers inside her. He’d have to do something about her hands later, but for now, he let it pass so he could watch the way her body tightened in on itself, muscles growing taut in anticipation; watch the way she pressed her head back against the mattress, eyes squeezed tightly closed; and watch for the moment—the brief split second when she reached her peak and she came wholly undone.

Little convulsions continued through her body as he guided her onto her hands and knees. He positioned himself. With one hand he swept her hair over her shoulder before he lightly nipped her shoulder blade and ran his tongue up the side of her neck to her ear. “Ready?”

“Yes, oh yes,” she breathed.

All it took was one smooth plunge for him to bury himself in her. Rylen dropped his head against her shoulder with a groan. Her wet heat surrounding him always took his breath away, and this time, with her body more than ready, was no exception. When he was certain she’d adjusted, he pushed himself upright and slid his hands down to her hips before taking a tentative stroke out and back in.

“Yes,” she hissed when he was again fully sheathed inside her. With that encouragement, he tightened his grip and drove into her again, more forcefully. Effie dropped her head to the bed as he continued his pace, her fingers digging into the covers underneath her. He was overcome by the urge to look her in the eye, to  _ see _ what he was doing to her.

She trembled as he ran his hand up her back, wrapping it around the front of her chest to pull her up to him. Her back arched as he pulled her head back to meet her eyes. They were wild and blue, like the Minanter after the heavy summer rains, glorious in their ferocity.

Beautiful sounds slipped from her parted lips. Though he wanted nothing more than to take them into his own, he knew he couldn’t. Her mouth was the only part of her he could never taste. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a bruising kiss as he continued his driving thrusts. 

He released her, letting her fall against the bed. Rylen only took several more strokes before pulling out. Continuing would put him perilously close to the edge, and he wasn’t done with her yet.

He rolled her onto her back and lowered his mouth to her chest, lavishing attention on the breasts he so carefully avoided earlier. Rylen wrapped his lips around one nipple and sucked hard, earning another cry from her. Her hands wrapped around the back of his head, holding him to her as though he might abandon her.

When he’d lavished enough attention on the one, he shifted to the other. Effie continued to roll her hips against him as he gave himself a chance to catch his breath. When he had, he dragged his hands up the side of her body, capturing both her arms and bringing her hands together over the top of her head. 

He pinned her wrists firmly against the bed with one hand. Her eyes snapped open, her gaze heavy and laden with lust. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and Rylen tracked the movement of her throat as she swallowed, before dipping his head to press a kiss against the hollow of her neck.

She didn’t react to him restraining her. There was something about the way she lay compliant beneath him that he more than enjoyed. It set ablaze the long-burning fire in him that she’d stoked back to life. This powerful, beautiful,  _ flawless _ woman lay docile underneath him.

He knew that he shouldn’t be feeling what he was feeling, so he pushed the thoughts aside and positioned himself between her legs. Her eyes never left his as he sunk into her once again.

Her eyelashes fluttered when he was fully sheathed in her and her mouth parted temptingly in a way that had him desperate to taste her. Instead, he dropped his head against her neck and breathed her in. The scent of a clean earth after rain assailed him.

He slid his free hand down her body and underneath her to grip her ass, and began to move. He rocked into her with long, slow, and steady strokes as he pulled her against him. Effie wrapped one leg around his hips, lengthening her body and rising to meet each thrust.

As they moved together, Rylen nuzzled her neck before deciding to give her another love mark. He sucked at the softness beneath her jaw, enthralled by the way she lifted her chin to give him better access. He obliged her, leaving more bruises along her pale skin.

When he was satisfied, he lifted his head and rested it against her forehead. It was tender and he knew better than to indulge himself, but he couldn’t help it. Each gasp that escaped her mouth and the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, he wanted to commit it all to memory.

She sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. “Rylen,” she breathed, “I need—” she cut off with a groan as he once again ground into her. “Do the thing…”

“Beg for it,” he told her between gritted teeth.

“What?” 

“Beg.” He punctuated the word with another thrust.

“Please, I need you to—” she gasped as he thrust into her again. “Please, Rylen…”

His hips moved faster, every thrust more forceful than the last. She closed her eyes even as her mouth dropped open, her body spasming in pleasure each time he slid inside her.

“Look at me,” he gritted. She dragged her eyes open, a storm of blue contained within them as she tried to hold his gaze. 

The question stuck on his tongue, but she must have seen it in his eyes, because she nodded and said, “I am.”

“You’re what?” 

Her eyelashes fluttered as she fought to keep them open. “Yours.”

At the words, he felt something new blossom. The amount of trust she had placed in him with her request—and her admission—shook him in a way he tried to ignore. To keep himself from thinking of what that could mean, he released her wrists and intertwined the fingers of their hands. He focused the lyrium that burned in his blood and slowly began to suppress her magic.

He tried to keep his rhythm—the same steady pace of each thrust—as he waited for the moment to release.

“Rylen, I’m—oh gods,” she breathed as her body tensed and her hand tightened in his.

“That’s it.” 

Her eyes widened and she stilled, followed by a convulsion that rocked through her body as she came. Her walls clenched around him, urging him toward his own release. She felt too good for him to wait any longer.

He released her hand, moving to grip her hips with both hands, and raised her up to go deeper still. She wrapped her arms around him, holding his body flush against hers as he surged inside her. His pace became increasingly erratic, each thrust harder and faster. Her breath was hot against his neck and the scrape of her teeth over his collarbone had him perilously close to the edge. With a bite on his shoulder, she pushed him over. 

Rylen drove into her hard one last time, groaning her name into her neck as he spilled inside her. Pleasure washed over him in waves, prolonged by the clenching of her body around him and her fingers at his back.

He lay on top of her, breathing heavily into her neck as he came back to himself. When he did, he shifted his weight to one side and gazed down at her. Her hair was wild around her and her eyes had a sated look that prodded that new, uncomfortable feeling growing in his chest. He lifted his hand to brush stray hairs out of her face, before running his thumb down her tattoo. 

There was so much he wanted to say, but he now knew to keep those thoughts to himself. He was blessed enough to have had her this long. 

Rather than say something that might ruin the moment, he slid out of her and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She rested her head on his chest. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She let out a light huff, though her words were slow and heavy. “No, quite enjoyed myself.”

“I’m glad.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tightened his arm around her.

Her hand wrapped around his and she mumbled something that sounded like ‘hands.’ 

“What was that?” 

“Like your hands…so talented.” She barely finished saying the words before her breathing evened into the cadence of sleep. 

He pressed another kiss to the top of her head and thanked the Maker he’d not lost her yet.

***

He woke to her hands on his body, exploring with an urgency it seemed they’d only just abandoned.

“Effie?” he mumbled, voice laced with sleep.

“I need you again.” Her breath was soft in his ear, and followed by her lips, and her tongue, and her teeth. There was a pass of her hand over his chest, carefully placed fingers, and a scrape of her nails. He arched his back at the last one, his body betraying how desperately he always wanted her. 

At his reaction, her expert hands continued their path downward, working every inch of him until he was ready for her to possess once again. She straddled him and sank down in a slow, smooth motion. When he filled her, she pressed her hands on his chest and began to move.

Moonlight spread across her pale skin, luminous even in the darkness. He watched the expressions cross her face as she ground on top of him. He was fascinated by her lips—by the way she caught the lower one between her teeth, how she pressed and rubbed them together, and the sweet torment of them as they at last parted in pleasure.

He lifted his head to capture one nipple in his mouth, relishing the soft hiss that slipped from her beautiful lips, and played with the other in his hand. She arched her back as though she wanted closer, as though she needed more, and he increased his focus—sucking harder, squeezing harder, loving  _harder_. 

“Yes, Rylen,” she moaned, her pace increasing with each swirl of his tongue or hollow of his cheeks.

As he continued his onslaught, she rode him faster and harder, using his body as he’d used hers. Aside from their breathy groans, the sounds of their flesh coming together was the only noise in the silence of the night. 

It was only them, wrapped up in each other—consumed by one another. Their coupling that evening had been extraordinary, but now this…this was different and more, their two bodies having a conversation no other would ever know.

“Rylen,” she breathed again. Her hands fisted in the sheets next to his head and her rhythm faltered.

He gripped her hips, continuing where she couldn’t. She threw her head back and let out the beautiful sound of her release as her body quaked above him. Her conclusions spurred him on and he followed her over in an overwhelming release of his own, made all the better by the intensity of that afternoon.

When he came to, she was still draped over him, her warmth all encompassing. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them to the side, savoring the way their bodies fit together. It was as though she’d been crafted for his arms to hold.

No, not those thoughts. Thoughts like those would lose her.

The coolness of the night across his sex-dampened skin brought him back to the present, and he fumbled for the blanket.

“Rylen?” she murmured, her voice heavy with the remnants of her pleasure. 

“Aye, _a leannan_?” In his relaxed state, distracted as he tried to get the blanket free from beneath them, the endearment slipped out. 

“How’re you so good?”

He let out a huff of laughter. “Good? Not many would describe me as such.”

There was a…something he refused to pay attention to that burned deep inside him as she nestled deeper into his arms when he pulled the blanket over them, cocooning them in its warmth. 

She mumbled, “I can’t get enough of you.”

“I canna either,” he admitted as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his heart.

As he listened to her breathing lengthen and she succumbed to the Fade once more, he thought, What have you done to me, _a leannan_?


	6. Chapter 6

When the closing of the door echoed through the room, Effie turned to watch him take slow, steady steps toward the stairs. He was still wearing his Templar armor, the metal of the full plate glinting in what little candlelight reached him, and he carried his helmet under his arm. His tan skin and brown hair were warm and bold against the coolness of the steel.

She’d sent him the message hours ago. At first, she’d waited in her quarters, but as the minutes crept by and he still didn’t appear, she’d moved to the throne room. Being next to the towering throne of Kirkwall usually made her feel powerful, but tonight it only made her feel as small as the thoughts that plagued her while she paced back and forth in front of it. Whatever these feelings were that he’d inspired were not ones she should be having.

“You’re late, Templar,” she told him when he was about halfway up the stairs. He didn’t respond, merely continuing his approach in silence, one careful step at a time, as his eyes remained locked on her.

She didn’t move as he approached and refused to so much as lift her eyes to meet his gaze. He knew what to do if he wanted her to look at him. So he did. He gripped her chin—the metal edges of his gauntlet pressed against her—and tilted her face up toward his. Their eyes locked together for a fraction of a second before he twisted his wrist, tipping her face to the side. He bent forward and his breath tickled her ear as he murmured, “I’ll make it up to you.” The lilt in his voice combined with the scrape of teeth at the sensitive spot behind her ear had a shudder of pleasure rushing through her. Instead of following his teeth with his tongue as he often did, he released her and stepped back. “Later.”

Annoyance flashed through her. No one dictated terms to her. Not even this man, despite the liberties she’d allowed him.

“What took you so long?” she demanded as he turned and strode away from her with long steps. As though he needed—or wanted—to put some distance between them.

“I was on patrol” came his quick, flat reply, directed toward the room at large instead of at her. At least that explained why he was still in full armor.

“You never work this late.” She knew because she’d made certain he would be available the nights she wanted him. Rutherford had been more than accommodating since Effie had, after all, saved his life. On several occasions. 

“I took an extra shift.”

“Why?” 

He turned to look her in the eye, his words as steady and even as his steps had been. “I’d no reason to believe you’d ask me here tonight.”

Effie took a slow breath. He’d always come when she asked and lately he'd spent the night with her more frequently than not. “What do you mean by that?”

“I was in Lowtown. I saw you.” 

_ With someone else _ was the part he left unspoken. 

Effie knew exactly what he’d seen. Isabela had talked her into an afternoon at the Hanged Man and Effie…well, she was alarmed by all the time she’d been spending with one man—the very templar who now stood in front of her—and the feelings he inspired in her. Feelings Effie Hawke couldn’t feel if she knew what was good for her. When she’d relinquished control, he’d taken it, but he never pushed further than she was willing to go. She had only herself to blame for panicking.

Some of Guard-Captain Vallen’s men had been at the tavern. She hadn’t even noticed them until Isabela pointed out that one seemed rather intrigued by her. Effie had gotten it in her head that a little variety might help her break away from whatever wild hold this man managed over her, but…it hadn’t. It had been a horrible mistake.

“Does that bother you?”

“Nae.” The severity of the single word cut through the air toward her.

“That’s all you have to say?” she asked.

“What more is there? You asked a question, I answered.”

More was what she yearned for. She’d wanted it every night since that afternoon he’d taken control. He’d wreaked havoc in her life. For him to admit anything so she knew she wasn’t alone in how out of her depth she felt with him…no. Effie didn’t feel. She had a heart made of stone. Emotions were for the weak and no one would dare call her weak. “What would you say if he’s still in my bed?” 

He held her gaze as he took steady steps toward her. Under the intensity of his eyes, Effie felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. What was it about this man that undid her so completely? 

The ripple that worked its way down his throat and disappeared behind the armor at his neck captured all of her attention as he moved closer still. “Then I’d ask why I’m here.” 

“Because he’s not.” Effie turned her face away from him, her lips finding their way into a tight line. “You’re the only one I want there.” 

“It’s good to hear you admit that,” he said. 

She caught wind of the tease in his lilt and, with a sharp turn of her face, glared up at him. “I meant for tonight.”

“I know…” The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips—his warm, full lips—as he lifted a finger to brush it over the tattoo at her chin. “I know.”

***

The loud clinking of his armor echoed off the walls around them as he followed her back to her quarters. The halls were quiet, but he’d seen the guards on his way in, spread throughout the keep. Most of them were good kids, but they could do little in protecting her in case of attack, as they’d failed to protect the previous occupant of the job. 

He’d come to expect spending most nights, though not all, with her. However with what he’d seen that afternoon in Lowtown, he'd not expected tonight to be one of those nights. Instead, he’d traded a shift to put himself to work. The last thing he needed was to think too much of the woman who was dangerously close to consuming him. 

Unfortunately, the quiet patrol had given him more time to think than he’d wanted and his thoughts returned to her again and again. Her original offer had been one night, which he’d gladly taken. Though it had not been enough with how combustive they’d been together. He’d tried to put her out of his mind and move on, but it had been pointless. She’d affected him in such a way he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to walk away from her.

“Viscountess. Knight-Captain.” The man outside her door nodded at each of them. “Good night.”

“Coleman.” He nodded in greeting at the guard as Effie breezed past the man into her room. Rylen set his helmet on an entry table while she magically pushed closed the door behind him.

As she lifted her hand to extinguish the candles, he stopped her. “Leave them.” 

She left her hand suspended. “Why?”

It took only a few steps for him to reach her. He didn’t pull her into his arms, the metal plate of his armor would be too uncomfortable for that, but he did brush back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. “I want to see you.”

She held his gaze as he moved his hand lower to the tie of her dress at her waist and tugged it free. The dress loosened, and he helped it over her shoulders, along her arms, and down past the swell of her hips. Once she was fully bared before him, he took his time, running the soft leather underside of his gloves over her skin.

Her chest rose and fell with each slow pass of his fingers. He circled around her, trailing fingertips along her collarbone to shoulder and then along the backside. When he stood behind her, he took in the now-familiar lines of the tattoo across her upper back. She’d never told him what it meant, but he knew the shape of it well enough from the hours he’d spent studying it while she slept.

He carefully moved closer to her and gently rested his hands at her hips as he listened to her breathing. He slid one hand up the front of her body, caressing her breast before continuing upward still to her neck, forcing her head back to look him in the eyes. The way her lips parted had him eager to slide his fingers further up in her mouth—but not wearing full armor. There’d be plenty enough time for that later.

Instead he told her with a low voice, “Get off before I get my armor off and I’ll give you what you want.”

Her retort was swift. “You’ll give it to me anyway.”

That brought a smile to his lips. She was right, though he wouldn’t tell her that. “If you’re lucky.”

“Oh, I am,” she smirked up at him.

He released her and prodded her toward the bed. “Then get started.”

She quickly crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, holding his gaze as she lifted her fingers to her mouth to wet them. When she’d dropped her hand down between her legs, he pulled off the first gauntlet, making a show of slowly dropping it on the ground next to him. 

He took his time with each piece of his armor, certain that it’d take her longer to push herself to completion than him to remove the armor he’d worn every day for the past two decades. Despite that certainty, he still kept a close eye on the way her eyes hooded in pleasure and the way her fingers glistened as she slid them in and out of herself.

When he'd freed himself from his trousers and kicked them to the side, he closed the distance between them and kneeled down on the ground in front of her. He pushed her hand away and easily slid two fingers inside her. She was so close, all it took was several strokes and a well tested hook of his fingers before she came undone.

As she came down, he pulled her with him further up the bed and cradled her against him. The way she felt in his arms was comfortable and before long, his fingers trailed their way through her hair of their own accord.

“Effie?” Her name left his mouth before he could think about what it was he wanted to say. He shouldn’t ask her for this, but…he would anyway. 

She shifted in his arms to press her body more fully up against him, her skin to his. He could happily have her by his side for as long as he lived. With a contented hum, she asked, “Mmm?” 

“Don’t bring others to bed without me again.”

She stiffened in his arms. “How did you know?” 

He captured her face in his free hand and gently tilted it up to his. She pointedly refused to look at him, but he was a patient man. He’d wait as long as necessary for her. When she finally lifted her eyes, he said, “Because I know you.” Her eyelashes lowered again and she didn't say a word. He ran his thumb over her lips. “We dinna talk about it…dinna establish what this is. But I am now.” 

She lifted her face to his once more and gave him a slow nod. Her fingers traced his jawline as they lay together in silence, their breathing the only sounds in the room.

Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Effie? If you need more, ask me. I'll always give you what you need.”

“Is that a promise, Templar?” She ran her finger back and forth along his lips—first the upper, then the lower.

“Aye, _a leannan_ , it is.” At the next pass of her finger, he sucked it into his mouth. Her eyes darted up to his, but she didn’t remove it. He gripped her wrist and slipped it back out of her mouth, kissed her fingertips, and he asked, “Are you ready?”

“Always,” she breathed, “but I thought I lost.”

“Like you said, I’ll give it to you anyway.” He shifted out from beneath her, the one wrist still wrapped in his hand. She willingly offered him the other, an action that made him chuckle. “Eager, are you?” 

Effie made a noise of non-commitment as he guided her hands over her head to the cloth holds they’d fashioned to the headboard. She held her hands steady as he looped the first one over a wrist, then a second. She wrapped her fingers around the fabric and pulled against them to tighten it around her wrists, though he’d fashioned them so she could easily free herself.

They’d been a compromise. Binding her was the one thing he’d never fully agreed to. He could appreciate the loss of control that she wanted, and the trust she’d placed in him to not abuse that, but he would not do it, no matter how willing she was. 

She dropped her legs open, her eyes boring into him, as he shifted his body over hers. He positioned his arms on either side of her, cradling her head in his hands, and gazed down at her. He allowed himself to fall into the depth of her eyes and the depth that he knew she hid inside.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

He dipped his head to kiss the tip of her nose. “I considered having you beg.”

She let out a delicate snort. “Never.”

He chuckled, knowing full well how lovely she sounded when she did. “Then ask nicely.” 

“Just fuck me already.” 

He shook his head as he fought back the smile. “Will you behave?” 

“I always do,” she said with an irritated sigh and rolled her hips against him. 

He chuckled and obliged her, sliding to where he belonged. Despite everything, Persephone Hawke was the truest thing he’d ever known, and he suspected the truest that he’d ever know.

As he moved inside her, he peppered kisses all over her face and neck, paying special attention to the places that would push her back toward pleasure: her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear, and just below her jaw. He knew all of them, discovered over the countless hours he’d learned her body as well as he knew his own.

Even without her arms, she enveloped him, pulling him in tighter to her. He curled his fingers under the back of her head to hold her more securely as he slowly suppressed her magic. He pushed her further and further, more and more, as she came closer and closer to falling apart. 

Her eyes were a wild storm. “Rylen...”

“I have you,” he promised. It wasn’t long before her body tightened and she shattered underneath him. He held her while she came back down, brushing his lips along the smoothness of her neck and tasting the sweetness of her skin, salted from their exertion.

When she finally opened her eyes again, he gently removed her wrists from the holds. Once freed, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him back against her, and started to roll her hips against him. Before long, they again found their rhythm and moved together as he chased his release. 

Her teeth scraped along his collarbone as she tangled her hands in his hair. He felt the first pulses of magic from her fingertips shooting down his spine. “Just like that.” 

Time slowed to a crawl as he took several more frenzied pumps. The pleasure gathered at the base of his spine spread through him before he exploded inside her, her name falling from his lips in a loud groan, “Oh, Effie.”

When he came to, her hands ran soothingly up and down his back and she’d wrapped her arms and legs around him to hold him close. He forced himself to move off her, but pulled her with him. With her head on his chest and her arm around his waist, she fit against him perfectly. As though she’d been made for it. 

“Are you okay?” he asked as he ran his fingers through her hair. 

The warmth of her breath tickled his neck and she nestled in closer. “Quite.”

He smiled as he nuzzled the top of her head. “You’re incredible.”

“I know,” she murmured back. 

Rylen chuckled, tightened his arms around her, and listened to her breathing lengthen as they drifted off to the Fade together.

***

At the first hint of morning, Effie tried to slide toward the edge of the bed, but she’d barely slipped out of Rylen’s arms when he captured her wrist in his hand and tugged her back toward him.

“Rylen!” she exclaimed as he maneuvered her underneath him with several swift moves.

“Where do you think you’re going when I have yet to give you a proper good morning?” he asked with a murmur against her neck. 

“What’s that?” The look on his face had desire flowing through her, and it wasn’t long after that his tongue between her thighs had his name tumbling from her lips and pleasure surging through her body.

The sun was already well above the horizon when she finally made it out of bed. She snagged her dress from where it’d fallen the previous night and, wrapping it around herself, went to her dressing table. She uncapped the prevention potion and poured the correct amount into a glass before quickly downing it. With that resolved, she made her way to the balcony.

She stood watching Kirkwall, tracking movements of the people who were already out and about, despite the still early hour. Behind her, Rylen stirred. She watched over her shoulder as he slid from bed and followed her to the balcony, not bothering with clothes. She was grateful, since it was a far better view that way.

As he approached, she turned to face him and his arms encircled her as they had almost every morning after they’d been together. She pressed her lips to his chest, just below the hollow of his neck, and he kissed the top of her head in response. It was a routine they’d easily slipped into, and Effie had to admit that she enjoyed it more than she should.

However this time, he didn’t stop at a kiss to the top of her head as his fingers tugged at the neckline of her robe.

“Haven’t you had enough yet?” she teasingly chastised as she reached to clasp the neckline of her robe back together. 

“Nae. I’ll never tire of you.” 

She rolled her eyes at his flirtation. “I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

“Never.” He shook his head, lifting a hand to caress her cheek in an unexpectedly gentle gesture. “What about you? When will you tire of me?”

Effie gazed into his eyes, his intense blue eyes, and couldn’t handle what she found there. She shrugged out of his arms and turned to face Kirkwall once again, leaving his question unanswered. 

Rylen rested his hands lightly on her hips and his breath was hot on her ear, “Has anyone ever fucked you on this balcony, Persephone?” 

She spun around. He was so close, and as long as he was near her, she couldn’t think. She pressed a hand into his chest, pushing him back a step to give herself some space. “We’re back to Persephone again, are we?”

“Persephone, Effie, I will call you by any name you want.” 

She lifted her chin. “What was it you called me last night?” 

“Hmm?” he asked as he stepped toward her, pulling her back into his arms. She tried to turn her face away, but he lifted a hand to her cheek and directed her face toward his. “What did I call you last night?” 

“Laynan?” she tried. He’d said it in passing and clearly hadn’t realized.

“Ah. _Leannan_.”

“What does it mean?”

Effie's eyes closed as she reveled in the warmth of his arm around her waist and his hand against her cheek. He moved his thumb to caress her lower lip and chin. “Lover.”

“Is that what I am?” she asked as she opened them to meet his gaze. “Your lover?”

“Aye, _a leannan_.” He dipped his head to kiss the top of hers. “I have to report in, but I want you out here later."

“You’ll come back then?”

He caressed her hip and ran his thumb over her chin one more time. “Of course.”

His eyes now held a look that had a heat rising to her cheeks. She prodded him toward the door. “So full of promises today, Templar.”

“You are worth it.”

When he stepped away, back toward the bedroom, she called after him, “Don't be late this time.”

He shot her a cheeky grin over his shoulder that had her insides fluttering before he disappeared into the darkness of her room.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a rare day indeed when Rylen had an afternoon off, especially on a day like this one. The heat of summer seemed to be behind them and the air had a crispness about it that heralded the arrival of fall.

Effie’d invited him on a day trip to the Wounded Coast, for a picnic. Whether she intended an actual picnic or something else, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he valued what little time he had with her, especially since the onset of fall meant that he’d be going back to Starkhaven soon.

He lightly knocked on the doorframe of Cullen’s office and told him, “I’m heading out now, ser.” 

“Rylen! I’m glad you came by before you left. Come in,” Cullen said, gesturing him forward.

Rylen’s eyes flickered down the hallway to the door, but he wouldn’t ignore the request from his commanding officer. He stepped inside. “Ser?” 

“I’d like to offer you a position here, full-time. Your work has been exemplary and I could use another experienced officer.”

“Thank you, ser.” Rylen didn’t know what more to say. Starkhaven was his home and he’d not thought about transferring elsewhere, though…stay in Kirkwall? The offer was tempting. “When do you need a decision?”

“Before the end of your duty here. Take some time, think about it.” Cullen lifted a piece of paper from one stack, looked at it, and moved it to another as he added, “That’s all. Enjoy your day off.”

Rylen smiled. “I will. Good afternoon.”

His walk to the exit was with a slower pace than before. A permanent job here in Kirkwall? The city needed help, he knew that, but he’d never intended to stay. He still had a life back in Starkhaven. Though the life he could build here in Kirkwall was far more appealing. A new job doing important work with a woman he…cared deeply for. Maybe that’s what he needed.

When he stepped out of the barracks, she was leaning against the wall as she waited. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of him and Rylen again smiled.

“Sorry,” he told her when he reached her. He wanted to take her in his arms, but aware that he was standing in the middle of the Gallows, he resisted. “Had a quick chat with Cullen.”

“Oh?” She lifted an eyebrow in question.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Let’s go then,” she said as she started toward the gate. “The horses should be ready.” 

“Horses?” 

She glanced over her shoulder. “Did you think we were going to walk?” 

“I figured we’d fly.”

The hint of a smile reached her eyes when she looked back at him again. “You know that’s not how magic works, Templar.” 

He just winked and she shook her head in response. Once they’d passed through the city gates, they found the horses waiting for them along with a detachment of city guards. In no time at all they were on their way. When Rylen caught his first glimpse of the Waking Sea outside the walls of Kirkwall, it took his breath away. It was unlike anything he’d seen before. It was vicious in its beauty as waves crashed at the cliffs of its shore.

Once they’d ridden along the coast for some time, Rylen’s curiosity finally got the better of him and he asked, “What’s with all the guards?”

“For some reason Bran insists,” she sighed. “I’ve protected myself far longer than most of them have been alive.” 

Rylen looked back at the group of guards. It was difficult to see their faces, but most did look young. It was a thought he’d had before. The guards would be no use to Effie when needed. She added, “Besides, they wouldn’t stand a chance against what I’ve seen.”

“Like what?” 

“Oh come now, you’ve been in Kirkwall long enough. Certainly you’ve heard the stories.” 

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I have.” 

She turned in her saddle to stare at him. “Are you teasing me?” 

He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at the shocked look on her face. “Me? Tease? Never.” 

“Rylen Clacher!” She reached out playfully and pushed his arm. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“I just know the basics.”

“That I dueled an arishok and challenged a stark raving mad templar?” 

“Right, the basics,” he said with a smile, but she didn’t smile in return. Instead, she grew quiet, lost in thought as they rode along the coastline. Rylen wanted the light-hearted laughter of the moment before back, though he couldn’t think of how to regain it. 

After some time, she pulled her horse to an abrupt stop and tilted her head, listening.

“What?” he asked.

She held up a hand and kept listening. A bird flew out of a nearby tree and disappeared over the cliff. She stared after it for several seconds longer, then prodded her horse forward. “There’s a path a short distance ahead, come on.”

The path appeared only a few more minutes down the trail and when they reached it, Effie dismounted and tied her horse to a nearby bush. Rylen followed suit and grabbed the blanket and saddlebag from her as the guards arrived.

“Stay here,” she instructed them. “It’s a short path and on the side of a cliff. This is the only access.”

“But Viscountess—”

“Do not follow us. That is an order.” 

“Yes, my lady,” one of the others said.

Effie gave Rylen a tight smile and started down the path. It wasn’t particularly long, though it wasn’t short either. It winded along the edge of the cliff before opening up into a small landing on the cliff face.

“How did you know about this?” he asked.

“I spend a lot of time out here,” she told him as she took the blanket from him and shook it open. “At least, I used to.” 

Once she had the blanket laid out, they both settled onto it facing out toward the sea. Rylen scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He expected her to protest, but instead she surprised him. She always seemed to. She laid her head against his shoulder and he asked, “Why’d you come here?”

She took a deep breath as she continued to stare out at the water, then lifted her head from his shoulder and leaned away from him to look at him. “You know I’m not Andrastian, right?”

“I figured as much,” he affirmed with a nod. 

“I used to come here because it’s the only place I can hear the gods. They’ve abandoned Kirkwall.” She pressed her lips together and furrowed her eyebrows. “Like everyone else.”

“You haven’t.”

“Yet,” she said bitterly.

Rylen pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know why she’d said it like that, but maybe…maybe he could cheer her up. “Cullen offered me a permanent position.”

“Oh?” The question was asked carefully and neutrally, and she continued to stare out at the water. 

“That’s why I was late.” When she didn’t respond, Rylen kept trying, “It’d be a good change. Different, but good.”

She just nodded and still didn’t look at him. He’d thought—or at least hoped—she’d be glad for him to stay. When she still didn’t say anything, the realization of why crept slowly into his awareness: she didn’t want him to.

It was with a heaviness in his heart that he let go of her and reached for the saddlebag that held their picnic. “Hungry?”

He liked to think the look in her eyes as she nodded was wistful, but it was no good to think like that. He was well aware their time was almost at an end, so he couldn’t let his disappointment ruin it. He had to savor what they had left because soon all he would have were memories.

***

Effie loved mornings. She loved that silent hour before the sun broke over the horizon. There was a gentleness intertwined with the darkness in the brief moments before the world awakened from its slumber. And every morning as the first light of dayspring spread through the city streets, she stood on the balcony of the keep as she did now, watching Kirkwall stir to life beneath her.

But this morning had come too soon.

This morning meant the end of the last night she’d had with him…the last night that she’d ever have. Today, he would leave for Starkhaven, the end of his temporary duty upon them. He hadn’t yet accepted the permanent position Cullen offered him the position here.

Because of her.

She turned, her eyes seeking in the room behind her. She watched him sleep in the early morning grey and memorized the lines of his tanned skin against the white sheets of her bed. The black tattoos on his chest and arms were stark even in the greyness. As the sunlight brightened her room, she realized he was awake, watching her watching him. His ice blue eyes were piercing, even in the soft first light of morning.

They held each other’s gaze as he slid out of bed, his bare feet padding across the cold stone as he made his way toward her. “Good morning,” he murmured. His northern accent was thicker and less tempered, the pronounced lilt heard only by her in the quiet moments before he hid it away from the greater world outside this room.

He wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted the other to run his thumb along the tattoo of her chin, as he’d done every morning in the preceding months. And in response, she leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck, as she’d done every morning in the preceding months. Their routine was comfortable. Ordinary. Which made this morning all the worse.

“You have a long journey. Shouldn’t you be going?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the tattoos of his chest. Unable to look into his eyes.

His arm tightened around her as he asked, “Is that what you want?”

She took a steadying breath. It would be for the best. For him to leave, back to the life he had before her. As much as she yearned for him to be her salvation, she couldn’t neglect her destiny. Her inevitability. Her fate that had been woven into the tapestry of the skies by the Lady herself. Never would it be told that she fled.

“Go back to Starkhaven.”

“That wasna my question.” His chest rose and fell under her gaze. Once. Twice. “Is that what you want?”

“It is.”

He took another deep breath before he lifted her chin to gaze at her. As he did, she studied the lines of his hard face: the jagged scar over his right eye, his strong, aquiline nose, and the firmness of his stubbled jaw. She breathed him in, wanting to remember his scent…like that of the earth beneath her after a summer storm, brimming with hope and possibility and life itself.

Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t show. Instead, he kissed her forehead before running his thumb over her tattoo one last time. “Then live long and keep well, Effie Hawke.”

“And you, Templar.” Sorrow pulsed through her as the words left her mouth. Regret flashed in his eyes, but without another word, he turned and walked away.

She stood stone still as he dressed, unmoving as he headed for the door, and unflinching as it softly creaked open. When he looked over his shoulder at her right before he crossed the threshold, it took all that was left of her resolve not to follow.

The door gently clicked shut behind him, and she felt the soft whisper of the morning breeze cooling the tears that dampened her cheeks.

***

When he got back to the barracks, he headed directly to Cullen’s office. Cullen had given him until today to accept the offer and now that Effie told him to leave, there was no need to waste time pretending otherwise.

Cullen was already bent over his desk when he entered. The man had a strong work ethic, and Rylen respected that about him. Kirkwall had been a welcome change from the tedium of Starkhaven. Not all of the templars garrisoned here were of the same ilk, but a leader who cared went a long way toward improving the situation.

The other man hadn’t noticed his arrival, so Rylen greeted him, “Knight-Commander.”

He looked up in surprise. “Rylen. You’re back early this morning.”

“I made a decision regarding your offer. No reason to wait.”

“You have?” Cullen lifted his eyebrows even as his eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to discern what Rylen was about to say. “Well, let’s hear it then.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I must decline your offer.” Rylen stared straight ahead as the words passed through his lips, focusing on a spot just above Cullen’s head on the wall. It felt dishonest somehow. He didn’t have to decline, but she’d told him to go back to Starkhaven, so go he would. Without her, there was no point in staying.

“Must?” Cullen sighed and set down the report he’d been reading. “I could use more good men like you, Rylen. Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

Rylen dropped his gaze to look him squarely in the eye. He deserved that much at least. “No, ser. There’s not.”

Cullen stared back at him. “Does this have something to do with Hawke?” 

“Respectfully speaking, Knight-Commander, there’s nothing for me in Kirkwall,” Rylen said. “It’s time I go back.”

“All right,” he sighed again as he ran his hands up his face and through his hair. “If anything changes, you know how to reach me.” 

Rylen nodded and turned to leave. It wouldn’t take him long to pack and he could be on the road to Starkhaven within the hour. If all went well, he could be back by week’s end.

“Maker guide you, Knight-Captain.”

“Thank you, ser.”


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Black Emporium has a new item: Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future, and was the consort of Archon Valerius.
> 
>  **Codex Entry** : _It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences._
> 
> _Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin._

_ Late 9:41 Dragon _

Persephone Hawke raged through the keep, Varric’s letter clutched in her hand. Papers blew off desks, candles extinguished, and the nobles ran for cover as she unleashed her fury. That usurper was going to invade Kirkwall and that bastard Ostwicker and his upstart Inquisition were going to help him do it. She would murder him if she ever got her hands on him. 

The both of them.

She stalked through the streets of Kirkwall, toward the Black Emporium. A whisper had reached her ears last night, borne on the wind, that there was a new relic that could show one the future if only you were brave enough to look. 

Persephone would look. She knew her future and she did not fear it.

“Yesss,” Xenon cackled as she stormed through the door. “Knew you would come.”

“Tell me how it works,” she demanded.

“One lyrium. Steadily clockwise.”

Persephone snatched the phial of lyrium at his feet, bringing it to the font in the back corner. She wrenched the lid off the liquid and took a steadying breath before she started to pour. When she’d finished, she leaned over the font, ready to see the consequences of her actions in the now-chalky liquid.

“My heart, are you here?”

Persephone tensed at hearing the Prince of Starkhaven’s rolling lilt calling from below, but the voice was too happy to be him. A blonde woman sat in a chair— _her_ chair—in the bedroom of her estate. What in the—

“Upstairs!” the woman called, snapping her book closed as she rose to her feet. Persephone caught sight of the jagged red scar across her face, running along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It was almost beautiful in its grotesqueness. 

Persephone was frozen, unable to move or look away from the vision unfolding in front of her. 

Sebastian entered the room and the blonde woman ran toward him and leapt into his arms. The man laughed— _laughed_ —and twirled her around until they both collapsed onto the bed, their peals of happy laughter echoing around them.

“You should be at the keep,” he chastised as he peppered kisses all over her face.

The woman rolled onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the canopy above her. “With all those lovely people who insist on calling me ‘Viscountess’ and demanding something from me? I needed a break, just to be Marian Hawke again.”

Persephone stiffened at hearing her surname. Hawke? This woman? Yes. She could see it. She had the same eyes as Malcolm and the same facial structure as Leandra...what in the gods’ names was going on?

“What brings you to Kirkwall, my prince?” the other Hawke teased, rolling onto her side and lifting a hand to caress Sebastian’s cheek. 

He covered her hand with his own as he gazed at her, a warmth in his eyes that Persephone had never witnessed. She’d seen the fire, but never the warmth. “I received a response from the Inquisition. They’ve agreed to ask for further aid from their allies. Kirkwall will finally get the help it needs.”

A large smile spread across the woman’s face and the vision began to ripple, as though it were about to disappear. She didn’t know what to make of it, but a thought passed through her mind as the image faded back into a chalky white nothing. 

_ What about me? _

The font darkened again, giving her one last image. It was of herself running into Rylen’s open arms, a smile stretched wide across her face. Persephone couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled. It was so simple, but the joy coming from them was palpable. Happiness? In her future? Could it be?

“How?” she asked aloud, astounded by the revelation. No. It wasn’t possible. The hour of her doom was set. It had been prophesied. She would not let it ever be told that she’d fled.

Xenon cackled behind her. “Thought you could handle it, hmm?”


End file.
